Ω
by kumiya
Summary: AU: Saitama's epic jump off the moon has knocked it out of orbit, causing drastic environmental changes and social breakdown. Living in skeleton of City Z, Saitama and Genos make a discovery that alters their lives forever. As their enemies circle closer, they are prepared to fight for what they love until, one day, they bring their monsters home with them. [Ch 1 reposted]
1. Chapter 1

Full Summary:

A year after Saitama's fight with Boros, Earth is in catastrophe—Saitama's epic jump off the moon has knocked it out of orbit, causing drastic environmental changes and social breakdown. Saitama becomes a wanted man, and the many heroes he once knew harden themselves to survive in an unforgiving world.

Living in the abandoned husk of City Z, Saitama and Genos make a discovery that alters their lives forever. Together they build a home, an oasis on ground zero. As their enemies circle closer, Saitama and Genos are prepared to fight for what they love until, one day, they bring their monsters home with them.

Author's Note: Hello! After being in awe of this fandom for so long, I have finally posted my own fanfiction. thank you for clicking on it. it means a great deal to me. I would love it if you would leave a comment so that you can tell me what you think of my writing! I hope you enjoy it :-)

Also, someone told me that I had accidently posted the wrong document for this fanfiction, resulting in chapter 1 being about the legend of Zelda and subsequential smut. It's been fixed now! _;

* * *

City Z blistered under the glare of the sun. The only sound was the hiss of heat waves, for the city was deader than ever before. The steel bones of office towers and apartment complexes peaked out from crumbling walls. Private homes were bowed-in gingerbread.

The sun was the one true god in this dying world, its punishing light rivaled only by its reflection off of Saitama's bald head.

"Potato chips!" he said, hoisting a family-size bag over his head. "I found potato chips!"

"Sensei!" Genos' head popped up, gopher-like, over a crumbling wall. He bore that wide-eyed intensity common amongst small ground-dwelling mammals. Hurrying to his sensei's side, he pulled aside the splintered pantry door. The beams in his eyes flicked on, illuminating cans, cans, packages, and more cans.

"Sensei has an incredible nose for free food." Genos thrust out a palm, and a gentle fan whirred away generations of dust-bunnies. Saitama did an inner 'Hurrah!' at the sight of preserved vegetables and fruits, rare necessities in this era of semi-apocalypse. Genos began piling goods into canvas bags already lumpy with toothpaste and toilet paper ransacked from the bathroom.

Saitama stepped back to let the pro have his space, the rattle of waffle cut potato calling to him from inside its bag. He swiped a finger across the dust-caked label. Barbecue. Sweet. "We could fetch a buttload for these at the flea market, but I sorta really want to eat them."

Potatoes had become a rare delicacy since they'd bit it near the beginning of everything. Their extinction had been a blow to the balls of civilization, for if anything could have survived the dramatic temperature shifts it should have been potatoes. Alas, nature was fickle.

"We could make western style mac and cheese with the chips crumbled on top," said Genos, his head deep in the pantry. His voice sounded soft and sleepy, like he was winding down for a nap.

Salt, spice, and everything nice. Saliva welled in the pockets of Saitama's mouth. "Mac and cheese it is."

He wandered into the living room, rocking on the balls of his feet. Honeyed sunlight poured through a massive hole in the ceiling. Debris crunched beneath his boots. A faded flower-print sofa. A shelf stocked with Korean soaps. The mantel was decorated with souvenirs and photographs and—wait…Wait…!

Saitama snatched up a photo, bringing it to his nose. With great concentration, he wiped a window through the grime to reveal a hunch-backed grandma, so withered that her eyes were wrinkled shut. Next to her stood a twenty-something youth wearing a blue tracksuit; he reluctantly clutched an enormous bag of candy. At their feet lay the battered body of a zombie-sunflower-thing, its maw stretched open in its death throes.

"Hanako-obaachan," Saitama murmured. "I didn't know you lived here." As he lowered the photo, he caught sight of something— _somebody_ —camouflaged in mold and dust. "Oh… Hanako-obaachan. Hello. How are you?"

The jerkied corpse of the late Hanako lay sprawled across the sofa.

"I guess this means you died in home-sweet-home," Saitama mused. "Nice place you got."

The photo was whisked out of his grip. Genos' eyes darted between corpse and picture, his brow bunching in a way that told Saitama that the cyborg had a disagreement and was conflicted about voicing it. Perhaps he did not want to trod on Saitama's relationship with this skeleton. Saitama smiled patiently as Genos hmmmed and mmmmed before facing his sensei dead on. "This cannot be your Hanako-obaachan. It looks nothing like her."

Saitama smacked him on the head with the chip bag. "Well, duh, crockpot! She dried up!"

"No, sensei. This skeleton is too tall, and it has male pelvic bones." Genos pointed towards a recliner opposite of them. " _That_ is most likely Hanako-obaachan."

There was no mistaking that skull and its sagging bun of gray hair. Saitama was so jealous. Even dead people had more hair than he did.

No body was to be seen. "I'll get the shovels from the cart," Genos said, disappearing outside.

The cart had been lifted from City Z's central shopping plaza, a graveyard market now haunted by possums the size of dogs. Saitama and Genos had been chasing the neighborhood flasher—Mooney Mooseman, a mutant elk and sole other occupant of City Z—when they spotted the cart and liberated it from a life of ennui. It now helped ferry their goods from pillage site to home base.

Genos soon returned with two steel-tipped spades and a tin of incense. The men dug through the floor, positioned the bodies, and smoothed the grave to perfection. They stuck incense in the dirt to accompany the spit-shined photograph. Soon, a cheap fragrance drifted about the house.

"Thank you, Hanako-obaachan and friend." Saitama bowed deep, Genos following suit. Then they headed back to the pantry and took every last scrap of food.

"Thank you, Hanako-obaachan."

The sun had climbed higher in the sky when they emerged from the Hanako family house. The light was piercing. It almost hurt to see. The crazy thing was that Saitama could also see the moon—a pale, watery disc riding the smogline. No one had noticed when it had first begun its slow goodbye.

Saitama remembered every second he'd been up there, his boots digging into the silvery crust before he'd jumped, cutting through space, then the fire of the atmosphere. He remembered the throb of his pulse, the scream of his muscles. He doubted he'd get the same rush again. The moon looked so far away now. It was slipping farther away.

"It's not your fault, sensei."

Saitama turned to see Genos pushing the cart down the wasted road like it was his natural place in the world. Like he had been pushing that cart for years and would continue to do so for as long as Saitama was there to share in the loot.

The corner of Saitama's mouth ticked into a smile. He threw his arms behind his head. "Yeah, it's not like I could have known I'd knock the damn moon out of orbit, but..." Sweat trickled down the side of his nose. The heat was an ever-present reminder of his blunder. He wished he had a hat, if just for some relief from his conscience.

"I will make sensei a hat," said Genos.

Saitama laughed because, god, they knew each other so well. "Dude, we both need hats. I wouldn't want your brain to boil in that metal aquarium." He ruffled the cyborg's hair and snickered when Genos' face scrunched into something both weird and adorable but mostly weird.

Once, when his sinuses had been clogged and his brain muddled with cough syrup, Saitama had zoned through a documentary about the moon and its Earthly effects. Tides blahblah gravity blahblah ecosystem blahblahblah. Now, he could appreciate the destruction live and in person. As the moon drifted, its weakening gravitational pull slowed the Earth's rotation. Longer days meant longer hours of sunlight, climbing temperatures, ecosystems destroyed, and civilization derailed.

All the fix-its he and Genos had discussed wouldn't help. Jumping off the Earth to haul the moon back might knock the Earth out of orbit. Kicking the moon back into its original orbit would leave him drifting off into space. Regardless of his abilities, the righting of this planetary disaster required math and physics—the stuff that made Saitama's head spin.

He heaved a sigh and cracked his back, wishing his worries would pop just as easily. "Genos, get in the cart."

Genos was a cyborg of many talents. Climbing into shopping carts was not one of them. The honeycomb plastic groaned beneath him when he finally squished his ass amongst the bags. He wrapped his arms around his knees and looked back at Saitama like a kid at the grocery store.

"Ready?" Saitama grabbed the cart. The asphalt _scritched_ beneath his soles as he sank into a sprinter's fold. Then he was lightning on the road. The wheels screamed and smoked but Saitama kept running until he could feel the sting of the wind in his eyes. Then he jumped on the standing bar, his cape streaming behind them like a flag. He looked down and saw Genos, head pinned back by the wind, eyes slivered, a huge doofus grin plastered across his—

 _BAMMM!_

Saitama's body lurched into the air as they collided with something solid. Flying was how he'd always dreamt it would be—out of control, limbs flailing. He landed face-first on the asphalt. His neck gave a pleasant pop.

 _Eh, just the right spot_ , he thought as canned loot exploded around him fireworks of beans, corn kernels, and sliced peaches.

Somewhere beyond, Genos groaned in pain. Saitama sat up and was greeted with gore. "Holy shit, we killed a dog!"

More precisely, a monstrous wolf with a trap full of alligator teeth and an obsidian pearl of a third eye. Its body had burst open like a balloon, ribbons of guts and flesh sizzling on the tarmac. The stench of blood assaulted their noses.

Genos crawled up to the corpse, the denim scraped clean off his metal knees. "That's not a dog. That's the breed of monster the HA has been talking about—omega."

Killer wolves encroaching on human territory. Their mating cycles had gone wonkers since the moon thing happened, so said the officials. Saitama's lip curled. "For all we know, the HA could be breeding these things in their labs. You never know what that creep Boifoi is up to holy shit don't get your face so close to it!"

"Don't worry, sensei. The virus is only transmittable by saliva and blood. And even if it bit me, well…" Genos sank eye to eye with the corpse's pearl before prodding it with a metal finger. Surprisingly, it squished. "We should take whatever chance we have to learn about these creatures."

Saitama hoppity-hopped on the sidelines, a twitchy dance of agitation and horror. Genos was breathing in its dust! They were practically making out!

Suddenly, Genos jerked up. Saitama's relief birthed and died in the same moment.

"They usually come in packs."

A howl crept along the wind and soon mingled with two others. Several canines crowded the far end of the street.

"Oh, gross! I do not want to see a dog orgy," said Saitama. He grabbed Genos around the middle and hauled him towards the mangled cart, bobbing along the way to snatch up whatever else had survived the crash. He dumped Genos into the cart and rained everything else on top of him, chips included.

"Sensei!" Genos said. "They do not have orgies, just very intense heat periods. The only animals that actively seek out orgies are humans, bonobos, and dolphins."

"Dude… you just ruined dolphins for me for, like, forever."

The omegas paced the skyline, rippling with agitation. "It's because we killed a member of their pack," Genos said. He twisted within the cart until he could see face forward. "Don't run too fast. The wind will rip off my legs."

The pack split, its members disappearing into the wreckage of the city. Saitama let himself marvel at their intelligence before saying, "Okay, Genos, I'll push. You fire away if they get too close."

Saitama sprinted down the open road. As they picked up speed, they could spot the monsters flanking them, sneaking through alleyways. Genos stretched out a hand to fire, yet they seemed uninterested in closing in for the kill. As the cart shot homeward, Saitama twisted one last time to see the omegas gathered around the body of their dead companion. Their silhouettes were dark, somber, shrinking into the distance.

* * *

After their apartment complex had literally slumped over backwards, Saitama jumped into the remodeling business and punched away the upper floors. He and Genos squeezed the broken pipes shut with their own fists and moved into the ground unit directly below their old one.

Today, Genos and Saitama bypassed their door altogether, silently trodding down a stairwell into the building's basement. Yanking open the heavy door, Saitama flicked on the light to reveal a foam and feather palace: layers of blankets gave the concrete floor a seductive squish; pillows bulged like creamy furnishings. The finishing touch: two sheep and duck-print futons spread before a small TV.

Groaning, Saitama collapsed onto his futon, cans rolling out of his toppled canvas bag. "Let's organize the stuff later. I wanna sleep," he mumbled into the fluff.

"Feel free to nap, sensei. I'll listen to the HA bulletin for us." Saitama heard a soft dial up tone, the buzz of static, and then Genos cursing the lesser machine.

Saitama's tired muscles were almost oozing off his bones. He could have slept right then and there, but he was starting to have trouble breathing with his face planted in the bedding. He rocked to the side, strenuously rolling onto his back to tug at his hero suit. Wiggling his way out was a battle, the sweaty fabric bunching up in all the most difficult places. At last, it came off as a thick yellow donut roll. He flung it into a distant corner and tried not to think about how badly he smelled.

A heavy thunk—metal striking metal—and the burble of static changed to Amai Mask droning about the development projects in City C. Genos crawled back with a satisfied smile. Saitama was peeved by how the cyborg could look so pleased when they had to stare at that prissy mug, but it was a necessary evil. Information was precious.

Try as he might, he couldn't drift off. Amai's voice had sunken its hooks into his brain, reeling him back towards consciousness every time he tried to slip away. In fact, now, as he listened, he could detect a new quality in the man's tone. It was slight; Amai was as composed as always. Yet something pulsed beneath the careful professionality, something raw, roiling.

"And now our most important news—research progress regarding the moon and our environmental crisis."

Saitama yanked himself upright. Next to him, he could hear the creak of gears as Genos sat up straighter.

"The space drones recently deployed by Metal Knight have discovered shocking new information about the moon's surface. As stated before, many satellites have photographed the epic crater thousands of miles in diameter that appeared after the alien invasion three years ago. Now we have determined its cause…"

A photograph filled the screen. The moon's face was shattered silver. The camera zoomed deep into the pit. At first, Saitama and Genos had difficulty processing what they were seeing, so strange as it was. But the image was sharp and clear. There was no denying what lay in the epicenter of the destruction…

A pair of footprints.

"It may be hard to believe that one man is responsible for a global disturbance, but Metal Knight's drones were even able to plaster cast the evidence. A footprint expert has determined that whoever had stood in these shoes was preparing to jump, and that they were headed towards our Earth."

Amai's face stared back at them, cold and predatory, like he could smell blood in the air. "A warrant has been placed for the arrest of the 'Man on the Moon.' He is a size 10 and of medium build. If you have any information relevant to this case, please contact the HA.

"That ends today's bulletin."

* * *

Notes: WHAT DO YOU THINK? Please leave a review! :D

I am so proud to finally contribute to this fandom.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: At last, chapter 2.

* * *

Gray lines of credits rolled against the block-letter HA logo. Genos hit the remote and the TV zapped dark. Saitama slumped; his skull was strangely empty of thoughts. A weird, wiggling sensation squirmed to life in his gut.

"Saitama-sensei," Genos said at last. "We must incinerate your boots."

Saitama gave Genos a flat look. "These boots survived two trips through the atmosphere. You're not going to incinerate them with your safety lighters."

"Then we must throw them into the ocean! Or bury them! Or, they're leather, right?" Genos crawled into Saitama's personal space, right into his crisscrossed legs. "We could boil them and eat them!"

"That's disgusting. Have you ever smelled my feet?" Saitama shoved the cyborg away. He hunched deep into himself, playing with pinches of futon. The public hated him already, and this time he was actually to blame.

"I would take eating sensei's shoes over eating my own shoes any day," Genos said.

"Thanks, man." Saitama's head dropped.

"If we were stranded at sea and had only one fish and Saitama-sensei's shoes, I would gladly eat the shoes and feel nourished."

"Okay…" Hanako-obaachan's skeleton flashed through his mind. He'd jumped off the moon; did that he'd done her in?

Genos shut his mouth. But only for a moment. "What I'm trying to say is, I won't let them take you.

Saitama's mind came to a halt. Genos looked infuriatingly sober, as if he had made an objective comment about his toenails. Yet his expression carried a new, warm brightness, and Saitama found himself magnetized. It was as if he were truly seeing Genos for the first time, and couldn't look away for the life of him. Heat kindled in Saitama's cheeks. A fluttering started in his stomach, and his heart did a little skipbeat dance. It was quickly growing uncomfortable, the sensation rising higher. Saitama's expression curdled as he tried to stamp it down, yet for all his might it was swelling, breaking free in a—

 _BUUUUURRRRPPP._

Genos blinked. Saitama thumped his chest and coughed into his fist. That had scared him a little. "Must have been breakfast," he said.

"I… will make sure that our next meal complements your digestive juices," said Genos.

"Ah, no, it's okay. I think I just swallowed a lot of air when I mowed down the eggs this morning," Saitama said with a grave nod. "Yeah, that's totally it."

He'd never been so sure of something in his entire life.

* * *

After a year of hogging City Z to themselves, Saitama and Genos were finally getting neighbors. Master and disciple were very rude to sit on the bleachers of Tsukishima Baseball Park, spying into the parking garage with high-powered binoculars, but they figured that their neighbors did not have typical sensibilities. After all, they ate monster guts and howled balefully at night.

The pack of six occupied the ground floor of the parking structure. They hunted monsters on the borderlands, so Genos and Saitama let them live citing homeland security. It also helped that they cleaned up whatever Saitama decided to punch.

The first signs were scrapes on the sidewalk, then paw prints in dirt. They didn't truly meet until once, during a midnight walk, Saitama and Genos had looked up at a toppled house to see an omega staring down at them. She was white from head to tail, luminous. None of them moved, man and animal caught in each other's presence, until Saitama took a respectful step back and continued their stroll. Genos followed suit, glancing one more time over his shoulder. She towered over them, a beacon in the darkness.

Later, they learned her name—alpha. Leader and progenitor, an alpha climbed the ranks through sheer strength and domination. Upon reaching the top of the hierarchy, they became bigenital, able to sow pups or bear them.

The run-in with the alpha had not triggered their spying games. Those had started when the white alpha disappeared for a while and returned with six cubs.

Six fluffy, soft-pawed puppies, waddling their way into a slowly burning world.

They met again by the same toppled house. The alpha licked her offspring around the ears before lining them up to show off how perfect they were. The puppies nosed the air, learning the scent of man and maybe robot too. Their yawns were lined with baby fangs. One of them looked right at Genos and yipped. That was when the cyborg remembered what love was like.

When she had grown bored, the alpha slipped to the ground and into the city, her pups following like snaggle-toothed ducklings. The men waited until the omegas were heat trails in the night before tailing them to Tsukishima Park.

Each animal was an individual. One was missing a foot and played babysitter when the pack was hunting. Another was black-drenched, a secretive shadow. Then there was the stray, lonely, lowest of the low.

The puppies had all started out with black coats before gradually breaking into grays and creams and tawny browns. Saitama and Genos picked up the habit of afternoon picnics when they discovered that the cubs tended to be active in the later stages of the day.

"I've always wanted a dog," said Genos, the binoculars superglued to the upper portion of his face. He wore the tiny smile usually reserved for folding Saitama's clothes.

"I could totally tell," said Saitama. Back when things had been normal, Genos couldn't walk down the street without making gaga eyes at every dog he crossed.

Now some people were eating their pets. Saitama would hear about it here and there—a dude roasting his of parrot of thirty years; cats were supposedly good with mayo.

Genos took a bite of curry from the bowl in his lap. It was mostly rice and watered down spice, plus vegetable monsters diced into heart shapes. "We had a dog once, actually. When I was in high school."

"Why'd you say that you've always wanted one?" Saitama said.

"He didn't live with us for long. Less than a week."

"Why?" Saitama said. "Oh! Holy shit. What terrible timing."

"There is no good time to have your whole family wiped out."

"Yeah..."

While they didn't have the room for a dog, getting something small and cute and cleaned after itself, like a guppy—that was doable. Saitama could imagine Genos measuring exact servings of meal flakes and observing the fish for signs of sentience. They would no doubt stare at each other, two faces pressed against the glass, each with their own weird set of eyes, each their own unique, unnatural creature.

"An omega just came out!" said Genos. "Rooftop, east wing."

They leaned together, cheek-to-cheek, splitting the binoculars down the middle. A great brown omega stared in their direction. This one enjoyed giving the alpha affectionate nuzzles and licks to the nose. Saitama was often torn between ooh-ing and wanting to give them privacy.

While the men were too far away to be seen, they surely could be smelled. Yet the lack as aggression in his body was comforting, like he had simply come to chat with them from over the garden fence.

"I feel really bad about killing that one omega," Saitama whispered.

"Since he's come out, maybe he's saying, 'We forgive you,'" Genos whispered back.

Perhaps the omegas were diseased monsters in terrible need of an orthodontist. Perhaps they howled through long hours of the night. Still, it was nice having neighbors, for on those nights when the wind blew like needles, you weren't enduring the cold alone.

* * *

"Dish soap! Dish soap for 1000 yen!"

"T-shirts! Sweaters! 3,000 yen!"

"Toilet paper!" Saitama screamed. "Completely unused toilet paper!"

People thronged around Saitama and Genos' tarp. Saitama handed each customer a roll of ass-wipes once they had counted 2,000 yen into Genos' hands. In a blink, they were sold out. Saitama squatted to reorganize their merchandise, most of it gathered from Hanako-obaachan's, when the reek of testosterone hit his nose. "You guys are way too expensive, you know, right? I might as well be wiping my shit off with the bills."

Saitama smacked his gum, blew a bubble, and then looked up. Backlit by the sun, the man's face was a slab of shadow, but his muscular, sleeveless shoulders told Saitama he was dealing with a witless Tank Turd. A couple of his buddies snickered from behind him.

Genos squared off against the Turd, chest to chest, meat versus metal. "If you want to give your starfruit a paper cut, the porta-potty is that way."

"Demon Cyborg, why'd you quit the HA?" said one of the other Turds. "We need people like you."

"I don't work for idol scum." Genos glanced back at Saitama. " _We_ don't work for idol scum."

Saitama crossed his arms and stood with his disciple. "So you _heroes_ better get out here. We don't want your business anyways."

"Shut up, fraud—"

"Ahem," came a voice.

Their heads snapped to the street. Eyelashes, dressed in the sleek uniform of the Blizzard Bunch, glared at the group, clipboard in one hand and radio in the other.

"No fighting at this market," said Eyelashes, his pen poised above pink slipsheets. "If you hotshots damage City T property, you will be working yourself to the bone for the rest of your lives."

Saitama jabbed a finger at Turd 1, who sneered. "You Blizzard Bunch can't tell us what to do."

Eyelashes' lip twitched in a barely-there snarl. "I'll listen to what you say when you win the goddamn city under our feet. Otherwise, City T is ours. We have the permits to work here." His voice went gentle, smooth. "And if you still don't understand, Fubuki-sama will find out where you live, who you love, and all your dirty secrets."

The Turd's face was stone, but his eyes gave a flicker of something else. "Fine," he said, his voice soft. "But we'll be back, and you'll be dead."

They waded into the crowd and vanished with the current of shoppers.

Eyelashes grunted, the harsh noise clashing with his face. Saitama fished around in his pocket and produced a stick of gum. Though half-peeled open and laced with fuzz, it was still pink enough to tempt the tastebuds. "Here, man."

Eyelashes waved it away, massaging a sweaty temple. "Thank you, though instead would you consider Fubuki-sama's offer?"

"Again?" Saitama unwrapped the gum and mashed it in with the other wad in his mouth.

"Also, she would like to discuss the recent news regarding the moon. You've heard about it, surely." Eyelashes tugged at his collar and beat the dust out of his pants, giving no hint of suspicion or disapproval. Saitama felt himself go a little slack relief.

"Sensei, it might be helpful to discuss things with Fubuki-san," said Genos. He bundled up their inventory and hefted the sack over their shoulder. "She might know things that are not privy to the public."

Saitama hmmmed. "I suppose."

Eyelashes was already radioing Blizzard Base Command. A black limousine pulled up behind the chain-link fence, and Saitama and Genos were whisked into the thick of City T. Saitama watched the jungle flash by—skyscrapers surrounded by scaffolding, business complexes in mid-surgery. Everywhere, construction personnel worked in swarms to outpace the sun.

As they descended into the belly of the city, the construction scenes gave way to dark towers of granite, metal, and tinted glass. The queen of these scrapers shot skyward from the city's central pavilion. Inside, the lobby gleamed darkly with its black marble finish. Blizzard suits flocked about, taking phone calls and filing paperwork.

In the elevator, Lily dialed a passcode that shot them straight to the top. There, a dark hallway. Then, a single door.

"Helloooo," Saitama monotoned into the speaker.

With a buzz, the door opened into a chic penthouse, modern as tomorrow. Its panoramic windows opened up into the sky so that one might simply jump and swim into the oceanic horizon. Swim through the blue sky and sun and clouds, for here, at the top of the world, there were no shadows. None save for the screeching, black-clad banshee hurling a glass at Saitama's head.

"'Sup," said Saitama, ducking. A prickle of shards danced across his scalp.

"So you are responsible for all of this!" Fubuki thrust a finger at the spectacular view of fractured city and its fractured sisters beyond.

"Sorry. No, really, sorry!" Saitama repeated as he was pelted by books.

Fubuki snarled. "I should blackmail you into working for me, but no, no, that would never work. You know I would never throw you to those dogs." She wiped a hand across her mouth as if speaking to Saitama left a bad aftertaste.

"Fubuki-san, how do you know that the 'Man on the Moon' is Saitama-sensei?" Genos said as they toed off their shoes.

"It's got to be him. It can't be anybody else."

"What about Blast, S-class, Rank-1?"

"I dug up some secrets." Rocking backwards, Fubuki crooked a finger, and a chair zipped across the penthouse just in time for her butt to _flumph_ into its cushion. "Turns out the guy doesn't exist. The HA made him up as an incentive for my sister to keep her on the job. She was always easier to handle when she had a goal." One of Saitama's boots flew into her hand. She peered down its mouth. "Huh, their forensics guy was right. You are a size 10."

Fubuki had not offered them chairs, so Saitama and Genos sat in front of her on the floor like schoolchildren. Fubuki chucked the boot back towards the genkan, but it flopped shy of its destination. She sagged; her pulse throbbed visibly in the pale column of her throat. "I hate him."

Saitama shifted. Genos studied the grain of the floor panels.

"I hate him so much."

Tatsumaki had left like this: the moon was flying away, and the HA decided that Tatsumaki was going to be their hero. Boifoi and Drive Knight got together to make this weird metal helmet with prongs that would be surgically inserted into her brain. It would amplify her psychic powers so she could haul the moon back to where it was supposed to be. She was actually excited about it! Tatsumaki, for once, not whining!

Fubuki didn't even realize she was speaking. "Well, before she could even try anything, the device toasted while it was plugged into her head. Apparently, our geniuses had argued over the balance of their steroids. Drive Knight had insisted on a safer concoction but Boifoi altered things at the last moment. The electric current fried her brain." Fubuki was on her feet now. "Do you know what cooked brains smell like, Saitama?!"

Her knuckles gleamed white across the hard corners of her fists. It didn't seem like she was going to be able to finish the story, but Saitama knew the ending because he'd watched it on the news. The HA had hosted several city-wide wakes for Terrible Tornado, the hero who had overstrained herself trying to save their moon. Afterwards, the newspapers buzzed over the alleged scandal and the Blizzard Bunch's secession from the HA

The light fell white and cold into the penthouse. Its minimal furnishing made it seem an empty husk. "Saitama, work for me." Fubuki's eyes were shut so fiercely that her brow wrinkled.

"No, because I'll just make things worse," he said. He felt like a dick but it was true. "The HA never liked me, and neither did a lot of people."

"We are frauds in the eyes of many." Amai Mask had pulled strings to soil Fubuki's reputation after she'd spoken out against him. The Blizzard Bunch had expanded greatly since their regular hero days—due to the scandal, even—but their saving grace was the sanctuary of Cities T-Y. Without the support of the people, their group would lose its legitimacy. They were nothing in comparison to the army that was the HA. They had to prove their worth or be destroyed.

"I hate them _both_." She whirled on Saitama. "Why don't you trust me more?" There was a raw edge of desperation in her voice. "Trust me when I say you'll be an asset, that you'll be recognized."

"This isn't about me," Saitama said. "It's about you and your power struggle with Amai Mask. I mean, what am I even gonna do? I can't punch him. There are laws."

Fubuki's eyes took on a gleam, but it quickly faded. She put her face in her hands.

A weary silence fell over them. Finally, Genos said, "We better get going."

Saitama climbed to his feet. "How about we help out with the monster runs this week in City Y? That could be fun."

Nothing of the sort had been fun for Saitama over the last year. If Fubuki saw through the lie, she did not say.

Saitama and Genos crammed their shoes on. "Goodbye. Take care." To Saitama's regret, it came out awkward and aloof. They filed into the corridor, and Saitama had almost closed the door when he caught sight of Fubuki's expression—her mouth was open as if to say something, her eyes on Genos, then him. Yet whatever she had to say retreated back inside of her. Her lashes swept down, feathering the dark circles around her eyes.

The door fell shut, surrounding them again in darkness.

* * *

The sunset lit the city on fire. Eyelashes ordered a chauffeur to take Genos and Saitama back to City Z. Saitama appreciated the lift despite knowing that it was simply another attempt to put him in their favor.

It was silent save for the great _whumps_ when they rolled over cracks in the highway. Exhaustion sank into Saitama's bones. A weariness had been plaguing him as of late, something deep inside of him turning restlessly. Genos had picked up on it, always standing by and refilling his cup like a stoic, loyal teapot.

"Saitama-sensei," said the kettle, "I think it would be good to get off at this point."

Saitama looked out the window. "Why? A couple more minutes and we'll be a lot closer."

"I think a slow walk home would be beneficial. Also, the omega den is nearby." Genos pointed at a concrete square several blocks down. "If we make a fast entrance, maybe we'll get a closer look."

Yes yes yes to puppy therapy. Saitama tapped the driver's shoulder. "Thanks, man." He was out even before the vehicle had fully stopped.

Genos and Saitama tended to avoid intrusions; they didn't like the idea of scaring the omegas. These days they were pretty good terms though, so perhaps they could afford of more intimate visit. Saitama felt a thrum of excitement as they neared the garage.

The arrived just in time to see Tank Top Master wrapping his hulking, tree-branch arms around the brown omega's chest. Though the wolf was tearing up his shoulder—a splitting series of cracks—and its ribcage crumpled like a take-out box, no air left for a whimper. Bones jutted through hide.

Saitama and Genos stood in shock as the body thumped on the ground, wet and deformed. A handful more turds sauntered past the tollbooth of the garage. "Dude, they had babies…"

Horror tumbled around inside of Saitama's stomach. He jolted into action, closing in on the boss. "What are you doing here?!" Had his finger been any longer it would have lanced the other man's nose.

"My job?" Tank Top Master turned aside, shaking away rivulets of blood. "What are you doing here? This place is a dead-zone."

Saitama waved at the carcass. "These things keep other monsters away! We shouldn't kill them!"

"That's true, but they also spread disease."

"Well, how do you know whether these ones have the virus or not? If you're hugging them to death where are your goddamn gloves?"

Tank Top Master looked at his bite marks. Some broken teeth were still embedded in his flesh. "I didn't really think about that."

"Chief, we got the rest," said Turd 1 from earlier that day.

"No, there's at least one more," said Tank Top Master. "The big white one shot past me while I was dealing with this brown guy."

"You killed them?" said Genos. He'd finally managed to tear his eyes from the body. A wave of heat rolled off of him. "You killed the puppies?"

"They were going to turn big and ugly anyways," said Turd 1, though he looked a tad ashamed.

"Fuck!" Saitama clapped a hand over his face in lieu of smacking someone. He was angry at the turds and, moreso, at his own stupidity. Of course this was going to happen. It was the way things were.

An ominous sensation slid into his gut. It could have been him. Had he still been a hero, _he_ could have been the one to wipe out that family.

"You said there was one more?" Genos was all teeth. His sclera were so dark that they might have been negative space.

"…What of it?" said Tank Top Master. More turds were coming into view either from the parking garage or around the corner, their rippling bodies dirty and scratched. Saitama could see how the pack had been downed. They had been outnumbered, trapped, executed in their own home.

"Leave it to us," said Genos.

"Do what you want. It's done for anyways. I had it against the wall before I tangled with the brown one." Tank Top Master wiped his hands on his jeans, though he just looked messier. "Guys, we're getting out of here."

The mass of beaters ambled away. Once they were out of sight, Genos led the chase deeper in Z, scanners spread wide. His thrusters screamed as they leapfrogged over rooftops and rubble.

 _She's already dead,_ Saitama told himself. Best to expect the worst.

Genos veered down to the street. Saitama leapt after him, touching down on the other side of the block. The first thing he saw was a thin trickle of blood at his feet. Ahead, the cyborg squatted over a prone form.

Saitama jogged over and felt himself sag. One side of the alpha's chest had caved in. Blood misted the ground as she wheezed, and a wide strip of flesh was missing from her face. Saitama realized that he'd been wishing for the wrong thing. It was more painful to see her suffer.

Genos' hand rose as if to touch her, hesitated, and in the end he let it fall at his side. Her eyes swiveled to look at him from under her drooping lids.

Blood dripped from her face, out of her mouth. It dripped even as she stopped breathing.

Darkness inched across the sky. Saitama dragged his palms down his face, trying to wipe away his exhaustion. "Come on, Genos," he said. "Let's go."

He barely heard the muffled "okay" since Genos was half-curled into himself. Saitama cupped a hand under his arm and pulled him up. "We'll find her a nice spot. Somewhere with a little shade."

Genos didn't answer. His eyes were trained on the ground, on the spatter of blood sullying the pave. Saitama slung his arm over his shoulder and guided them in the direction of home. Finding his bearings was surprisingly easy; they'd somehow ended up on their street. In fact, they were only several blocks away from their apartment.

As they walked, Saitama realized there was something off about the way home. The blood hadn't disappeared. It wasn't the dark mess like earlier, rather a thick trail of droplets dotting the pave. Some of them were half-evaporated, others fresh. It was as if the alpha had been running back and forth along the quickest path to…

Saitama pulled them along faster. Genos was still looking at the ground, but there was life to him now. Saitama's pulse spiked as they arrived at their apartment complex. They dashed down the steps to their basement. The heavy door had a hole chewed through the corner. They barged their way into the den.

Trembling in a corner were three puppies, dirty but whole.

Saitama and Genos had been spies. But perhaps they had been spied on as well.

* * *

AN: Please consider leaving a comment. I would greatly appreciate it! I like hearing what people think of my stories


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: OMG. someone told me that I had accidently posted the wrong document for this fanfiction, resulting in chapter 1 being about the legend of Zelda and subsequential smut. If you've made it this far, thank you!**

The world was a haze of red. Burning houses. Gored bodies. The sun, a dark, scarlet specter hanging overhead.

The corpses of his parents lay steeping in their own blood. The liquid hissed as it edged into the flames currently devouring his home. The heat was pushing its way inside of his skull, suppressing his ability to think. His body felt leaden, but not because it was a dream—he weighed in at 100 kilos of firepower; he inhaled smoke, exhaled steam.

 _Where was it? WHERE WAS IT?_ Genos burned with the need to unleash himself, to destroy the thing that had taken those he loved. As he turned to hunt down his quarry, his reflection shone atop the carpet of broken glass. His eyes glowed wild, alien. Blood and ash were war paint on his face.

There.

The mad cyborg.

Genos lurched awake, a roaring in his ears and a scream charging up his throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth, tried to swallow it back down, but it crept through his lips—a tiny and desperate whine.

He shivered, hard, his metal parts rattling. Dully, he realized that his lips were burning. He pulled his hands away and saw smoke wafting from the flamethrowers, their innards still aglow. Scorch-marks marred the blankets.

Saitama's space on their shared futon was empty. From beyond their blanket tent came the murmur of running water.

Genos crawled into the sensei-shaped impression and wrapped himself in the heart-patterned coverlet, no gaps, a potato in tin foil. He buried his nose in the bedding and breathed deep. Here, he was safe. Here, he had shelter.

Slowly, his shuddering eased into little tremors, then into steady breaths.

Night was as cold as day was hot. Though sun-scorched earth stayed warm for a couple hours after dusk, the cold had a way of sinking in its teeth. Saitama and Genos fended off the chill by cuddling in a fort of quilts that dropped down from the ceiling. Genos would crank up his core, and it was like sleeping under a large kotatsu.

He didn't really understand what is was about the warm groove in the futon; perhaps lying in the shell of something else gave him, for all his hard edges, the sensation of being held. He craved the comfort and reassurance and would occasionally fall asleep when watching TV in Saitama's lap. Genos let the last of the tension drain out of him. He let his senses unravel, trying to catch the gentle sounds of morning. Water came again, this time much closer. Genos frowned; the sound was less the murmur of pipes than a jet thudding against wood.

"Stop!" Genos burst out of the tent in time to see a pup pissing on the floor. It scampered away in fright, joining its siblings under the kotatsu.

"Eh?" Saitama's voice bounced down the hallway.

At least the puddle was not very big. Genos sighed. "I've got it, sensei." He made for the mop in the closet.

The kotatsu's blanket had been rolled up on one side, exposing its refugees. Genos studied the puppies from the fringes of his vision. If either he or Saitama looked directly at them, they would shrink and begin to shake. The least amount of fear they ever conveyed was frozen silence.

The bowl of water in the corner lay untouched. So lay the plate of curry. Genos wouldn't have been worried if it hadn't been Day 3 with their new dogs. The cyborg glanced at the puppies and immediately regretted it when the other two wet themselves, their fuzzy bodies quaking.

A chime came from his phone. _Blood test came in. Your dogs are free of the virus,_ read a text from Dr. Kuseno.

Genos and Saitama had spent several minutes lunging around their basement, trying not to crash into each other as terrified puppies darted in between their legs. They had worried little about the virus until they looked down at their slobbery hands and remembered that it was dinnertime. While Genos had attempted to catch the puppies by wrapping them up in blankets, even those had gotten wet and raggedy.

Another chime. _Is there any way I can convince you to turn these things free?_

 _No. They are too cute to die,_ Genos texted back, then snapped the phone shut.

After rinsing the mop and spraying the floor with antiseptic, he realized he was without a towel. Genos knocked on the bathroom door. "Sensei, are you done? I need a rag."

A long grunt came from inside, then a relieved: "Uhhhh… ah, um—hold on, I'm pooping!" A clatter, and then the door cracked open, Saitama's hand waving a tattered shirt.

"Thank you."

Genos returned to the soiled area and wiped in long, slow circles. He let his mind sink into the task. There was a mysterious link between cleaning and power—he'd seen it in that karate movie.

A flicker of movement. The puppies bobbed about, watching him. Genos stopped, noticing how he was on his hands and knees.

 _Maybe_... Crawling, he retrieved the bowl of water and set it in the puppies' line of sight. Then, making sure they were watching, he bent low and began to carefully lap up the water with his tongue.

"What the hell?"

Genos looked up. Saitama stood in the hall.

"Saitama-sensei," Genos hissed, "you are ruining the moment!"

Saitama cast him a blank stare before stepping over him. The puppies scattered as he neared the kotatsu, and, seeing the spot available, Saitama plopped down. "So I was thinking—"

"Sensei, be careful—"

"—we should raise these omegas until they are big enough to survive on their own. Also, we should teach them tricks—"

"Sensei, don't stick your feet—"

"I want them to be able to bring snacks to me while I read on the floor. Why is it so wet here?"

Genos sprayed Saitama's feet with the antiseptic.

Saitama's blank expression returned. "Why couldn't we have found something easier to care for, like, a bunch of nanopets?"

"I'm sorry, sensei."

Saitama grumbled and picked his ear. "How are we going to get them to pee outside and not run away?"

"I think they're going to have to go on rags until we can get them on leashes."

"Ugh, this place is gonna smell so bad."

"Also, Dr. Kuseno says that the puppies are clean."

"Good—" Saitama picked up the plate of curry, sniffing it "—because I'm eating this." He headed for the microwave.

Genos beamed with pride. Sensei liked his cooking so much he would eat it off the floor! If only the puppies would do the same.

After cleaning the other puddles, Genos turned on the TV. The image flickered only once in a while—a good reception day. MetroNews was reporting on the omega virus outbreak; the police had recently apprehended an infected man who had gone missing a week before. He'd turned up in City G, naked, delirious, and caked with dried vomit. During his days on the street, he had sexually assaulted three women. Genos changed the channel in hopes of watching something more uplifting. Anchorage ABC reported that infection rates were dropping, but the fate of afflicted patients remained bleak. Some victims in the late stages of the disease had been purposely placed into comas, a last ditch effort to slow the swelling of their brains.

Madness, literally. Until your brain took up all the space in your skull. Genos' dream reared up from the back of his mind. A wave of anxiety rocked through him, followed by a burning urge to lock himself inside the apartment forever. He would rather let the mad cyborg run wild than become it himself.

He forced himself to be still. He was immune. _Immune_.

Yet a small voice inside of him said that he didn't need to go crazy in order to hurt someone.

A gust of fragrance—Saitama's egghead popped into view below him, curry in hand. Genos realized that he had curled in on himself.

"You okay?" Saitama said, hushed.

Genos nodded vigorously—at least in the beginning; his head bobbed lower and lower until it hung, defeated.

"C'mere." Saitama took Genos' head in his hands with the sort of gentleness that made Genos feel like he was something precious, soft. He let himself be guided into Saitama's lap, let his eyes close to the rhythmic scrape of spoon and china.

They changed the channel again. This time they landed on junior jeopardy. Category—diseases. A ten-year-old girl hit the buzzer. "What is the omega virus."

"I can't believe that such a scary disease also makes you horny," Saitama said. Fingertips trailed back and forth across Genos' scalp, a whisper of a touch. "I mean, why?"

"The virus is supposedly trying to spread itself."

"So the whole time-of-the-month thing is about world domination? That is so… twisted."

Genos agreed that there was something particularly horrible about a disease that induced such feverish violence, and all in the name of reproduction. Despite its lack of a brain, it seemed to carry a perverse intelligence.

The buzzer. "What is encephalitis," said the same ten-year-old.

"Do they—as in the people with the virus—do they remember the things they… do?" said Saitama.

"I guess it depends on how far gone they are," Genos mumbled into his calf. "In the early stages of the disease, once their… craze… passes, they'll probably remember a few things at least. However, as the virus further infects the brain, victims experience more and more neurological issues. Agitation and anxiety. Cognition slows. Lucidity falters. Psychosis. And then…well…"

"So once it gets bad, you don't have much a mind to remember things at all," said Saitama.

Genos could feel tension in the tight cords of the older man's lap, so he snuggled an inch closer. Saitama's fingers drifted back into his hair, and soon there was little else than the sounds of silverware and the girl slaughtering her competition. The fingers in his hair took Genos to a warm, fuzzy place. He was almost asleep when the clink of the spoon stopped.

Saitama went taut again.

Genos shifted in the nest of Saitama's pajamas. "Sensei?"

Saitama's whole body flexed as he swallowed, his throat muscling around a lump of anxiety.

Genos wiggled out Saitama's lap. Serious-Saitama had made an appearance. As the silence stretched on, a blush claimed his neck, then his face and scalp.

"Yes?" Genos said with an edge of alarm.

"Uh…um…OKAY! So if you're feeling, you know, hot-blooded—down there—and particularly so, how can you be sure if you have the virus or not?"

"I think you'd notice if you were bitten by a gigantic dog."

"Yeah, but what if an omega bit another monster and then you took a shower in its blood 'cause you pummeled it. Or how do we know that it's not mutating into an air-borne disease this very instant?"

Genos wasn't sure where this anxiety was coming from. "Sensei, there are other symptoms too—fever, dizziness, fatigue. Those symptoms are more prominent and come much earlier, I think."

"Oh. Okay, good." Saitama sat back with a smile and continued to eat.

A devil whispered in Genos' ear. Another one danced atop his tongue. He tried desperately to hold in his words but—"Sensei, when you were in the bathroom, were you really jerking off?"

" _Oh my god_! Why did you have to ask?!" The blush returned, surging full force across his face.

"Sensei, our bodies are nothing to be embarrassed about!" Genos protested even as he hid his face in his hands, offended by his own lack of restraint.

"So much brain, so little tact!" The whites of Saitama's eyes jumped out against his flush.

They fell apart, sweating out the last of their embarrassment. The TV flickered. The ten-year-old said, "What is malaria."

"I have something to tell you," Genos said, "but it is more than twenty words."

Saitama glared. "Why should I give you more words when I practically burst a vein at ten?"

"While people look at my body with pity, they don't exactly know what I lost—"

"I didn't say yes—!"

"My family—we were not a charmed family."

Several emotions played across Saitama's face, in the parting of his lips, the softening of his brow. They never talked about Genos' family. Perhaps in passing, but the details, what each person had been like—never. Genos did not like dwelling on memories because when he started he couldn't stop, and with that came the rage and regret. Suddenly, his words clogged up inside of his throat, sticky with dread. Could he get through this with dignity, without smearing oil all over himself? Or would he go on and on, unable to shut up?

Saitama sat solemnly before him. He didn't ask how family was related to anything in the conversation. That was when Genos realized how much trust he had gained since living with the other man. It turned the key to the lock of his heart.

"My parents were very disillusioned with their marriage. By the time I was in high school they almost never spoke. The only times they talked were over divorce papers. Screaming, really. Otherwise, the house was quiet.

"I was also not the son they wanted. My mom would look at me and see my dad, the man she'd wasted her life on. My father would look at me and see my mom, the woman who'd stolen all of his better years. It was a lose-lose situation. I stopped talking to them too and went out to get a real family member—the dog I mentioned. They were furious because, of course, no one had talked about it. It ended up causing us to delay the process of selling our house. Long enough for the Mad Cyborg to come to town."

"Oh my god," Saitama rasped. "Genos, you can't blame yourself for that. You don't, right?"

Genos face went carefully blank. "Dr. Kuseno says that same thing."

"Th-the same thing could have happened even if you didn't get the dog. Or even if you worked the situation out with your parents. I mean… I…" Pain passed across the older man's face.

The ache never dulled, yet Genos found himself centered by a newfound serenity. "The point is—you don't _have_ to talk to me, sensei, but I'll be here, ready to listen, if you choose to. While I realize can I go on for far too long, I think too much talking is still better than silence."

Saitama dropped his head. Fell still.

Genos plucked at the fringe of his sweatpants. "I agree that certain subjects can be very embarrassing though."

"No, dude, I get it," said Saitama. He let out a long breath and looked away. So many feelings tangled together, everything sharp and tender at the same time.

"Okay." Saitama's lip quirked up—a twitch of a smile. "Okay, I owe it to you. Compared to what you just talked about, my stuff's nothing." He cleared his throat. "I don't feel dizzy or tired so it's probably normal, except for the fact that I keep waking up with wood that's so damn hard—like, I could roll over on top of it and it would puncture the floor."

"I could see that happening," said Genos, as if such a thing were another of Saitama's superhuman abilities. Saitama didn't know whether to laugh or to crawl underneath the kotatsu and hide.

"Does anything else stand out?" Genos continued. "Do you dream of anything?"

"Dreams?" Saitama's eyebrows knitted together. "Hmm, maybe? If so, it's always a fuzzy memory when I wake up."

The morning chill had eased now that they'd gotten their blood running. Saitama stood, a half-smile on his face. Even though he didn't say anything Genos could tell that he had appreciated their conversation.

Saitama shucked off his pajamas and reached for his tracksuit. "I'm going for my 10k. Be back in thirty seconds."

* * *

Saitama failed to return in thirty seconds. En route, he'd spotted a 500 yen coin wedged into a deep crack in the road and had spent the last five minutes trying to drag it out.

"Come on, come to papa," Saitama muttered as he jammed his fatties in one more time and failed. He would have punched his way to it save for the sewers below. Squatting, he examined the puzzle from yet another angle.

He thought back to his conversation with Genos. His embarrassment had been unusual, probably because he'd literally had his dick in his fist a few minutes before having to talk about it. _I think he's a teaching me more than I'm teaching him,_ Saitama thought. _I should try harder._

A bellow rocked across the sky, a sound akin to a constipated foghorn. Against his better interest, Saitama turned around. Down the cracked road stood Mooney Mooseman. The elk-thing turned around and pulled down his tattered business slacks, exposing his hairy buttocks. His balls dangled like a pair of dashboard dice.

Saitama's hand curled into a fist. This would be the last time.

* * *

Saitama returned home to find Genos once again on all fours, his face in a bowl of chili. The puppies huddled under the kotatsu, spellbound with curiosity.

"Genos." Saitama knocked on the doorframe. Genos shot up and attempted to hide his sullied face with his hands. "I have a better idea. Come see this."

Genos folded double to wipe his mouth on his shirt, stumbling towards the door. Stretched across the pave was a headless, hairy corpse, its privates disturbingly familiar.

"I figured the puppies would eat if it's something they're used to," Saitama said with a breath of excitement. "Now help me gut this guy!"

"You placed yourself in the firing line of obscenity? For dog food?" Genos said. "How selfless."

"Yeah, I agree oh crap shut the doo—!"

Puppies darted between their legs, bolting for freedom and all of its perils.

"Catch them!" Saitama sprinted forward and scooped one up off the ground, but it jiggled free via a layer of baby fat. Its fur was as soft as a dream.

"I-I—I—I'll be back!" Genos raced back into the apartment.

"What the fuck?!" Saitama screamed. "I need you! Shit, where did they go?"

A clatter—a puppy scaling the landscape of rubble. Saitama dashed after it, navigating gingerly around unsteady plaster-boulders and pit traps of thin linoleum. A couple chunks of apartment building tumbled to the ground as he upset them, and Saitama prayed that none of the other puppies were being crushed. As they neared the summit, he snagged the pup and tied it up in his shirt.

"Sensei, there's one below you!" Genos said, now waving a fishnet.

Saitama double-knotted the ends and tossed the bundle to Genos, who scrambled to catch it in the net. "Use your hands, dammit!" Saitama shouted. The second puppy was trying to hide inside of a broken refrigerator. Saitama ripped off the door and grabbed it by the scruff. Genos hurried forward and Saitama dropped the animal into the net.

"My scanners indicate that the last one is hiding beneath that slab." Genos pointed at a giant piece of flooring. Saitama punched through it, fishing around before pulling out the last whimpering runaway.

"Good job, sensei!" said Genos. He proffered the net.

Saitama's expression hardened. "Genos, put the net down."

Genos hesitated. Fear flashed across his face.

"Put the net down." The puppy thrashed in Saitama's hands, its whines escalating.

Genos sealed in the contents and lay the net on the ground with such tenderness that Saitama almost lost his resolve. Almost.

"Genos," Saitama said, "are you scared of puppies?"

Genos wilted even more.

The puppy began gnawing on his hand. To Saitama, its fangs were as deadly as several dull toothpicks. He thought back to the night they'd found the omegas. Genos had insisted on wrapping them in a blanket whenever he tried to catch one. It hadn't seemed too strange at the time, but now… "Who the fuck is scared of puppies?"

"You don't understand," Genos protested. "I'm made of metal and have pinchy joints. I have sharp instruments coming out of my fingers. I—I almost set the futon on fire this morning. And these puppies, they're so small. And soft. It would be so easy to… to…"

He bowed his head. "I am not enough."

The puppy had at last begun to weaken. Saitama turned his gaze heavenward. How had he ended up here? The sun blazed into his eyeballs and provided no answer. He would just have to come up with one himself. It came more naturally than he thought it would.

"Genos… you are the best disciple anyone could ever not need. You stick it through with me even when I'm boring or insufferably depressed. Every month you cook my favorite vegetables in some tasty new way I haven't tried yet. I'm pretty sure that the only way to get rid of you would be to die, but then we'd still meet again one day and it'd be same old, same old, except we'd be angels."

Genos' mouth was opening, so Saitama silenced him by shaking the omega in his face. As the cyborg quailed, Saitama pressed harder. "Yeah, this puppy would be really easy to squish we didn't want it. However, you think it's super cute and you'd love to pet it all day long—don't make that face! I can tell you want to!"

Saitama's ears turned a little pink. "Yeah, you are a machine of mass destruction. The most loyal, caring, sweetest doom cannon I will ever know.

"Now, 'disciple'—" Saitama held out the omega "— _take the puppy_."

Genos made a choked noise. Twin streaks of oil dribbled down his cheeks. It didn't stop him from thrusting out his shaking hands and curling them delicately around the omega's middle. The puppy hung limply in his grip, its tongue lolling out in exhaustion.

Genos stared at the animal he carried. He dared not breathe. Though he looked tense enough to bust a circuit, Saitama nodded with approval. "You tackle hard conversations like a champ but cry when you hold puppies? You are so weird." He slung his arm around Genos shoulder. "So weird."

They dragged Mooney into the kitchen, where they slit him from throat to navel. His liver was deep maroon and shaped like a slice of pizza. Genos diced it into little cubes, pan-frying one half while serving the other raw.

"This is sick. Sick!" said Saitama as he sawed off one of Mooney's buttocks and put it in a freezer bag.

"Do you think Mooney was first a human who became moose-like? Or do you think he was a moose who became more human?" asked Genos.

"I am not going to think about that," said Saitama.

The butchering was a long process, long enough for the puppies to calm down and warm up to the smell of meat, their noses lifted to the air. They hid when Saitama tried to deliver their plate, so he and Genos ducked below the kitchen window and tossed bits of mooseman into the living room. When they put their ears against the walls, they could hear he puppies snuffling about, lips smacking.

They ran out of liver. They ran out of heart and belly and the fatty part of the thighs. The puppies huddled below the kitchen window as Genos dangled strings of intestines for them to catch.

After the puppies couldn't eat anymore, Saitama went to take a shower. Genos wiped himself down with a wet rag and set about cleaning when he bumped into the water bowl. After placing it in the center of the apartment, he went back to spy on things from the window. The puppies had gathered around the dish, their eyes trained on Genos. When he ducked and put his ear to the wall, he could hear the soft lap of water.

* * *

AN: Thank you for reading! Feedback puts a fatass dorky smile on my face. Simply the email that says you've got a review puts a smile on my face. Feedback of any sort makes me write better and faster! Please consider writing!


	4. Chapter 4

"MAKE WAY, MORTAL, FOR I AM—"

Pumpkin gore rained down upon Saitama as the demonic kabocha splattered to a halt. In the middle of the mess huddled a giant rat wearing a ball gown and glass slippers.

"Shoo!" said Saitama. Cinderella jumped down on all fours and sprinted for the sewer. The puppies barked, straining against their Kevlar harnesses. The two Saitama had leashed were both females—one a rustic red-brown, the other black with a splash of cinnamon.

Getting them to eat had been a celebratory event, one that was quickly followed by a frenzy of urination and defecation. Dr. Kuseno's army-grade dog gear had been a godsend. Now he and Genos took the puppies out for a walk three times a day, both to empty their bladders and to blunt their nails on the road.

"They need names. Something fit for a trio," said Genos. Unlike his sensei, the cyborg held his leash with a tepid hand. "Come, puppy!" he shouted. His omega, a cream-colored male, ignored him in favor of sniffing a glob of pumpkin guts. "Sensei, please take charge! Show us that you are our pack leader!"

"Come on, little dudes," Saitama grunted, dragging the dogs up the sidewalk.

The sun peeked over the cityscape. Though Saitama had hoped to finish their walk before the oven turned on, their turning point, an abandoned warehouse, lay far onwards. Saitama glanced behind him. "Genos! Move!"

Genos turned back towards his omega and whistled. The puppy perked at the foreign sound, ears and tail zinging skyward.

"I didn't know that you could whistle," said Saitama.

"I can't. I downloaded this off the Internet and into my vocal harmonizer." Genos opened his mouth wide, like he was hoping to catch a fly, and out came a lilting tweet.

"Wow, you're freaky."

"Thank you, sensei."

The white puppy was on the move, but not in the direction that Saitama desired. Instead, it mosied into a run-down store. Genos hopelessly followed after it, his leash slack. Groaning, Saitama turned around headed in the same direction.

Empty shelves. Muffled silence. Saitama toed his way forward, letting the omegas guide him with their superior night vision. Twin stars flashed ahead, blinking in and out, swiveling, running over shelves until they stilled, transfixed. Saitama locked onto them and shuffled forward, wincing out an apology as he treaded on a paw. "Hey, Genos!"

The cyborg did not respond. Saitama wondered what had gotten him so still. It was even a little annoying; the least he could do was turn a light on for him. When Saitama finally caught up and turned his gaze in the same direction, he saw little other than hazy shadows. "Goddamnit!" he said as he shoulder-checked a neighboring wall. The puppies yipped as they were sprayed by wood chips, plaster, and rays of light.

Tins, stacked row upon row, shelf upon shelf. Tins of _oil sardines_.

Genos sagged against the wall in a hug, mumbling something sweet into the aluminum. Saitama plucked one can off the shelf and checked the date—good for another year and more.

There were even different brands. Saitama stood on his tiptoes and grabbed a red-papered, ovular tin off the shelf. "Look, it's your favorite!"

Genos broke into a smile—one that showed off all his pearly whites and made him look his age. Saitama would have pinched a cheek if not for the surprise blooming inside of him. He hadn't expected himself to remember such a small detail, especially since he never ate sardines on his own. Warm pride spread through his chest. It felt good to be in touch with the people in his life.

The can did not have a tab, so Genos ripped the top off with his teeth. Plucking out a sardine, he lowered it into his mouth like a Roman emperor would eat a grape—all in one go and with an air of indulgence. Then he held out the tin to Saitama, who accepted one because the cyborg looked so freakin' happy and it was nice to be part of that.

They emerged from the store with Genos' backpack stretched tight with tins. The puppies shook themselves, shedding clouds of dust. On the street, the remains of the pumpkin monster pulsed with life. Chunks of flesh were coalescing into small fruits, their shells just beginning to harden. Saitama scooped up a few and juggled them all the way home.

* * *

Not even Genos could scrub out the smell of fur from their apartment, but Saitama found himself easing into the scent more and more each day. Genos took the pumpkins to the kitchen, and Saitama played with the omegas by tossing worn socks into the air and watching them fight over them. The sisters tug-o-warred over a furry tube sock, their snouts wrinkled into playful snarls. The sole male stalked a garter that Saitama wiggled in front of him, snapping at only at the most advantageous moments.

Over their growling came the grind of a saw, the buzz-slosh of the blender. _What the hell is he making?_ Saitama wondered.

Quickly, the puppies extinguished the population of socks. They stared at Saitama from a field of cotton shreds. While they wouldn't get too close to either man, their bouts of shaking had disappeared.

A sweet, milky scent drifted out of the kitchen window, followed by a whiff of spice. Finally, Genos emerged bearing a pumpkin in each hand. Saitama raised a brow as the cyborg passed one into his hand. It was coffee-mug warm. The top part had been sliced off, allowing one to peer into the creamy drink inside. A spicy latte heart decorated the surface.

"No fucking way," said Saitama.

"I tried a recipe I found online. Unfortunately we didn't have any good coffee—only the instant, carcinogenic kind."

"Whoopee," said Saitama, steam tickling his nose. They knocked their pumpkins together in a toast.

A dash of nutmeg. Cream, smooth and sweet. Each sip was a drop of heat in Saitama's belly. "At least somebody got the seasonal thing right, even if it was a monster," he said.

"Kabocha grows year-round, sensei," said Genos.

"It's not fall without pumpkin spice lattes," Saitama argued. "It is now officially fall. However says otherwise can try me."

The puppies plied them with their best begging tactics-lustrous eyes and an occasional whimper. They padded towards Genos, having sniffed out his bleeding heart early on. They inched forwards when they thought the cyborg wasn't paying attention, backtracked when Genos peeked at them from over his pumpkin. Saitama sat back and snickered into his drink.

Impervious to the heat, Genos tipped back and took a gulp. His tongue, pink and perfect, swept up the side of his "mug" to catch a droplet. Saitama zeroed in on the gleaming trail of lubricant _._ Making submarines and satellites cost millions of yen. The question was… were they worth more or less than a good tongue? Genos' tongue?

The question popped out before he could think too hard about it. "Hey, Genos, how real is your tongue?"

Genos didn't miss a beat. "It is the most sophisticated tongue ever born in a lab. It has three hundred artificial nerve endings and uses high-retention lubrication and—"

"Yeah, yeah, but is it as real as your old one?"

"…I can't remember. It's been a long time, and it's not like anyone thinks about how their tongue feels."

Saitama swirled his tongue against his teeth and the roof of his mouth; it squished in the most entertaining of ways. Now he knew why babies were always shoving things in there. After memorizing the bounce and firmness of the muscle, he nodded at Genos.

 _For science!_

They leaned into each other. Up close, Saitama could see the graceful shape of his lips. They opened like an invitation, moving through the shape of his name, and Saitama would have shivered if not for the sound—the sloppy slurping of somebody else's spit-swapper.

Saitama looked down and saw the white puppy with its snout down his pumpkin. He froze, both not wanting to scare it away and also to marvel at how close it had come.

The omega pulled away with a few harsh pants. Perhaps the drink had been too hot.

"That's it!" the bald man exclaimed. He pointed at the red-brown female—

"Pumpkin."

The black sister with her cinnamon streak —

"Spice."

The creamy male—

"Latte."

He threw his arms into the air. Some of his drink sloshed onto his thumb.

"Sensei…" Genos looked dazed. "You are adorable."

"I know. Thanks."

The puppies cocked their heads, certain that they were being discussed. Saitama kept smiling even as Pumpkin squatted and pissed. Somehow she still looked cute.

* * *

The weather was an animal all its own—untamed, unpredictable. Though the sun stole up the lakes and rivers, the water always returned to the Earth—just all at once, and with savagery.

The storm halted their sales trip, forcing them to take shelter in City A's department mall. Genos convinced Saitama to strip off his clothes in a toilet stall, ring out the water, and allow the cyborg to air-blast them dry. Saitama could feel the heavy stares being directed at their stall door, but the payoff was fuzzy warmth seeping into his skin. Genos dried his own clothes without taking them off, heat blasting from his vents. Then they went to get snow cones. They were the only ones warm enough to want them.

Saitama nibbled at his hill of rainbow sherbet. From the observation level, they watched traffic inch by, a long network of lights struggling in the storm. The only thing that seemed unmoved by the tempest was the HA headquarters. It's block letter logo burned dandily, a 'fuck you' to nature's wrath.

"I don't know who I hate more," said Genos, "Amai Mask or Boifoi."

Saitama let that comment sit. Genos hardly mentioned his feelings on other people; his distaste had to have been brewing for him to mention it.

The cyborg's scowl was curbed only by his blue-raspberry syrup lips. "Boifoi," he continued, "killed Fubuki-san's sister. But Amai Mask was the one who let him get away with it."

"I'm glad we're no longer part of the HA." Saitama toed the shopping bags at their feet. "It never really felt right, trying to line people up and decide their worth."

"I'm glad that you don't have to deal with any more hate mail. That was awful."

"And they were always pressuring you to give interviews 'cause you're pretty."

"They didn't pay you a fraction of what you were worth."

"And they were always stealing your time with so many dumb meetings." Saitama cracked a smile. "I'm sorry I made you try to climb the top ten."

"It's okay, because now we can say stuff like this—" Genos drew himself up and pointed at the tower "—Hero's Association, you suck!"

"Yeah!" Saitama flipped the tower the bird. That was when a bolt of lightning lanced through the sky and struck the building. Its logo flared white-hot before bursting in a shower of sparks.

"Ohhhh!" Saitama crowed, his finger still a-waggle. "Did you see that?!"

"Sensei, that was incredible," said Genos.

"Yes, quite a feat," came a voice.

Amai Mask's reflection glared at them from the window glass.

Saitama summoned all the self-control he had to avoid fisting his snow-cone into icy pulp. Instead, he turned, lazily, a blank stare pasted across his face. "Yeah?"

Amai gave Saitama a half-second sneer before turning his attention to Genos. "My resources reported that Demon Cyborg was in City A. While we'd usually just send a letter, for your case I thought an personal visit would be more persuasive."

"Wait… you knew where we were? Like, you _saw_ us?" Saitama said. He did not like the sound of that.

Amai threw him another bone. "Whereas our abilities and numbers were wasted under the old administration, new management puts every hero to utmost use."

Genos wore that half-stoic, half-pissy expression usually donned when taking out the trash. Unease, however, was rolling off him in waves. "What do you want?"

"Having seen that display of animosity," Amai said, " it seems pointless to ask you to rejoin. But think: it would be for the greater good. You'd be helping countless people across the metropolis."

"It's my doctor, isn't it?" said Genos. "That's who you really want."

"I suppose you come as a package. Your ever-upgrading skillset would be of great value."

"I refuse," said Genos with the apathy of concrete.

"What if we paid well? Enough to fund his next project? Enough to allow you to live comfortably, despite the times?"

"You wanna know why we left?" said Saitama. "Because some ugly pop star gouged his way into an administrative position and started charging people for hero help. Whatever you might pay us is dirty."

"…We?" said Amai.

Oh shit.

Amai looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. "Baldy…" he muttered. "…Caped Baldy!"

Oh super shit.

Saitama could practically see the hamster sweating away on that cold, calculating exercise wheel. Saitama cursed every scandal and shady rumor to his name while simultaneously wishing they had been a tad more true. He thanked that he was wearing his flip-flops and that his uncut toenails gave him an additional quarter-inch.

Just as his armpits were beginning to dampen, Amai's blistering gaze turned back to Genos. "What is he to you, Demon Cyborg?"

"Saitama—" _Saitama-sensei is my god I would follow him down an erupting volcano he makes cute 'snoo-snoo' sounds when he sleeps he is perfect he could punch you into the sun bitch_ _watch out_ "…is my… housemate…"

A low groan—the sound of Genos' gears straining as he battled his inner fanboy. Saitama prayed to all the pagan gods of the world to send lightning smashing through the glass to strike Amai down. Then they could go home and live happily ever after.

The idol lifted a brow. "Just friends?"

"No, duh, Demon Cyborg is definitely my wife," Saitama growled. "Lay off!"

"His thing is one punch, not one _jump,_ " said Genos. "Besides, there is no oxygen. It's blisteringly cold. No humancould do it. Your man is more likely a remote-controlled robot, like Metal Knight."

"Unlikely. Boifoi may have the face of a naked mole-rat, but he is not a traitor." Amai said. "Plus, he understands the situation—we change, or we _die_."

"We can change without milking people of their money."

The disdain in Amai's expression darkened. "It seems you're still just a child. A pity, because now you're literally wasted resources. Prepare to greet your parents in the afterlife. Honestly, I think they'll understand."

Genos didn't react. No grimace or glare. Yet there was a stutter in his impassivity and then something else more vulnerable.

That flicker of hurt torched the last shreds of Saitama's patience and left a new fire in its wake. "Listen, you shithead," he said. "While some people may have swallowed your version of justice, I'll bet that even you won't know what to do once your find your man. He must be powerful beyond imagination. You're an idiot to think you can harness that."

Amai turned in his direction, Genos forgotten. Saitama had never bragged during his stint as a hero; he hadn't been that type of person, or so he'd thought. Really, he'd been saving it for this day, when it would mean something. All those moments of being slandered and unappreciated felt like nuisances in comparison to the truth, and he realized that, for the first time, he was proud to be who he was.

"You can try to disguise your fuck-ups—" he prodded Amai in the chest. "—but your shit is smeared all over you, and the stink will never leave."

Never had words felt so much like a fist. "Wash yourself all you want. We know who you really are."

If Amai Mask could shoot acid from his eyes, Saitama's face would be a bubbling puddle on the floor. But he couldn't. Couldn't do anything but boil. Saitama, however, was done. He picked up their bags and turned to Genos. "Let's leave."

Amai blocked his path, all teeth. "If you know something, you better spill. Withholding information on this issue is a crime."

"Pfttt. Even if I knew anything, you would have to strip it from me." Saitama grabbed Genos' wrist and pushed past. He did not look back.

They wove their way across the deck. Genos let himself be pulled along, a little stunned. Then he wrapped his hand around Saitama's wrist and squeezed. They dropped into a casual pace, gradually changing from holding wrists to holding hands. Despite the intimate nature of their living habits, it was something they'd never done before. Now, it just felt right.

"I've decided who I hate more," Genos said.

"Uh, yeah, that guy is so cold you could freeze otterpops in his asshole."

The leftover adrenaline kept their laughter at bay. Sweat cloyed the small of Saitama's back, and his pulse was dancing double-time. Now that Amai was no longer being an immediate buttpain, the weight of his words descended upon him. "Do you think…"

"Was it risky? Definitely. Does he know anything incriminating? No. Still, I hope sensei never does that again, even though I felt very special."

"Dude, you are super special. I mean..." That look didn't belong on Genos' face, not if Saitama could help it.

"I know, sensei. Thank you. On further note, I think we better tell someone what you've done to the moon—"

"What? Really!?"

"Someone trustworthy, who won't tell the authorities." Genos stopped them. "Let's face it—we are not going to solve this problem by ourselves. It is literally astronomical. We need help."

Dr. Kuseno, the smartest brain between the two of them, was still not an astrophysicist. They could not count on any of Dr. Kuseno's astrophysicist friends to keep mum. "I used to want everyone in the world to know of you, to truly know of you," said Genos. "Now, however, that would cause mass panic. People would want to lock you up but, realizing nothing can hold you, the next thing would be something like poisoning you in your sleep."

"What a comforting thought."

"Exactly why we need to solve this. The sooner the better."

Genos wrangled some of the shopping bags out of Saitama's hand and flung them over his shoulder. They continued into a suspended hallway, sheets of water pooling down the glass walls. In the blurry distance, the HA tower was flickering back to life. "Hey, you know," Saitama said, "Amai Mask doesn't tell people the truth, but… neither are we."

To his surprise, Genos answered easily. "I would never tell anyone about this if harm would come to you, sensei. Though it may make me a hypocrite, I don't care."

Saitama's nose scrunched. "You're certainly not as bad as Amai Mask though."

"I don't care if it makes me even worse than him. I would never give you up," Genos said. "Everyday, I _choose_ not to give you up." The cyborg turned away, suddenly bashful.

Saitama flushed, a note of thrill mixing with the usual embarrassment. The heat staved off the chill, strengthened him. "Not even when the world is ending, huh?" he said.

"The world will be fine—we'll make sure of that. But if someone were to give you a fatal dosage of cyanide in the middle of the night, applying it via cotton swab to the mucous membranes of your nostrils, I would…" Genos kept his gaze on his shoes. "I would not be fine. At all."

Saitama felt a little floaty inside. He laughed it off. "Is that how you would do it? Put cyanide up my nose?"

"Sensei, please take this seriously. Cyanide is not a happy death."

"Aw, whatever! I know you'd wake up in time to save me."

Blush dusted Genos' cheek, and his lips wobbled into a smile. Saitama could tell that he was trying not to preen. Saitama squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, man. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

They rushed outside into an adjacent tea shop; anything to add a little distance between them and Amai Mask. Nursing steaming styrofoam cups, they listened to the rain drum on for one, two, three more hours, before stepping out under a drier gray sky.

They split up to cover the last of their shopping list, Saitama heading to City G's poultry market while Genos hunted for a petroleum tank at City F's recycling plant. Saitama spent the better part of an hour haggling with three different sellers. The last bird he'd been going for had two heads. That was, in Saitama's opinion, a reason to drop the price, yet the grandma who'd raised the flock argued that two heads meant more meat, which meant more money. Saitama grumbled as he trudged towards the train station with no chicken to speak of.

The sun was low, and the street abandoned. A crash echoed from the alleyway up ahead. _An animal_ , Saitama thought, until a monster stumbled out. It reminded Saitama of Pig God—bloated and pink with exertion—except instead of flubby spare tires it was swollen tight, a ripened balloon of a creature. It moaned, low and pained, before staggering in his direction.

Monsters never frightened Saitama anymore; most of them just looked like bad anime villains. This one, though, was freaky. For all its deformities, it looked too human.

Saitama was about to get gory when a motorcycle screamed past him, charging down the monster. The creature had only a second to scream before the bike popped back and flew in for a Justice Crash to the face. Blood and plasma spurted as tires shredded flesh. The horror movie concluded with the bike landing on top of its prey, grinding once more before wheeling into the road to face Saitama.

Mumen Rider popped the shield of his helmet. "Good evening, Saitama."

"Hey, Mumen," Saitama said when he had recovered from the gorefest. "Can we go this way?" He wandered out of the path of red.

Mumen gutted the engine of his bike and pushed it along. "You look... good. Tired, but good."

"Oh? Thanks. You look…" He couldn't see anything beyond those smudged glasses.

Mumen laughed, pulling his helmet off. "I'm good. It's not every day that I get to help _you_."

They reached a roadside bench, a spot overlooking the sleeping port. Mumen reached into his jacket and pulled out a smartphone. "Sorry, I've got to report that encounter."

"How's work?"

"Fubuki drives us hard and expertly. I've been doing so much since joining the Blizzards."

Saitama smiled, feeling more at ease about Fubuki since he'd last seen her. "I'm glad you're part of her group. She needs people like you."

"It's scary how influential Amai Mask can be. Honestly, if I hadn't known Fubuki before the scandal broke, I might still be with the HA." Mumen slid the phone back into his pocket. "How are things with Genos?"

"Huh? Oh, fine. He's fine," said Saitama. "I cook, he cleans. He cooks, and I read manga."

Mumen smiled. "Sounds like bliss. I'm happy for you guys." Saitama shrugged. Weird thing to say, but whatever.

"Also, can I ask you something?" said Mumen. "Are you the guy that everyone's talking about? The moon-guy?"

Saitama groaned. "Does everybody I've ever met know this?"

"Oh, god, it _is_ you!" Mumen let out a bark of laughter, though it wasn't entirely humorous. "So, like, you can fix this right? Tell me you can fix this."

"I have no idea how to fix this. I have to find someone who has some sort of idea." Saitama slumped, his spine curling into the curve of the bench.

"Mmmm," said Mumen. The ocean reflected off his glasses. All that biker gear couldn't hide his baby face. It reassured Saitama that not all soft, kind things had fled in this world.

He leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. The water _shhhushed_ into his ear.

"You know," said Mumen, "I think I know that exact someone."

Saitama turned towards Mumen so fast that his neck cracked. "Who?!"

"With the company you keep, you may have met him already. He's—" His phone beeped. "Sorry."

"Hey, tell me!" said Saitama, though a small part of himself delighted at watching someone be on-call. Being unemployed had its moments.

The cheer was short-lived. Mumen stiffened, staring harder at his phone. His face paled.

"What's wrong?" Saitama asked. Mumen didn't respond. He got up and strode across the street.

"Hey!" When Mumen walked onwards, Saitama got up and jogged after him.

The biker stood over the remains of the monster, his toes in the pool of blood. He stared at the corpse, at his phone, and the corpse again. Saitama peered at the screen from over the biker's shoulder. It showed a picture of a man—late forties, skin sagging on a hollowed face. Saitama read the caption on the side—Yamamoto Daisuke, 42, escaped from G Psychiatric Ward after having a severe reaction to a vaccination.

Saitama thought he looked familiar, and that was when he looked down at the corpse. "Holy shit…"

Mumen drifted away, dropping into a squat a few yards from the body. His head fell into his hands.

"Easy, try not to freak out," Saitama said, though he was screaming a little on the inside. The encounter played back in his mind. He remembered the moaning. Maybe that had been a cry for help.

"I have to call the police." Mumen took his phone back from Saitama but couldn't punch in the numbers for the shaking of his hands.

Saitama took it from him and finished the job. He did the talking, too, and found himself calling it an accident—because it had been, of sorts, right? When all was said, they sat on the curb and waited. "You okay?" he asked Mumen.

"He did look like a monster," Mumen muttered. "He really did." His voice was hard and cold.

Saitama sat next to him on the curb. "If it wasn't you who killed him, it was going to be me. And if it wasn't me, it might have been someone else."

"Yeah, but it wound up being me. What is his family going to say? And, oh, the Blizzard Bunch is so fucked." Mumen hid his face in his hands.

The HA was often snapping at the throat of the Blizzards' legitimacy. HA press reps took every opportunity to criticize their rival organization, and Amai Mask frequently called them a potential threat to social order. His social order.

"This could be the end," Mumen murmured through his fingers.

The authorities arrived, sirens flashing. The police, looking at the body and then at the well-respected hero, also seemed unsure what to do, but in the end they cuffed Mumen and headed towards the city jail. They took Saitama too, in a different car. The next hours were spent boxed in an interrogation room, where they asked him the same question many times in different words.

At last, they let him go. Saitama asked them what was going to happen to his friend. They said it wasn't up to them.

When he got home, night had settled. The wind cut through every threadhole in his sweater. He'd never been so glad to see their little candle of a window and the tiny cyborg figure leaning out of it, hailing him like a soldier returning home.

He felt ready to drop once the door closed behind him. The three puppies were guzzling the dinner that Genos had laid out on the kotatsu. The cyborg chased them away, apron strings flying, but the damage had been done. "That's okay," Saitama said over the spray of rice and pickled cabbage. "I'm not really hungry anyways. Let's just go to bed."

As they crawled into their tent, Saitama told Genos about what had happened. "This is terrible," said the cyborg.

"Yeah," Saitama. "The freakiest thing is that I, like, was totally gonna punch that guy and no one would have ever found him because he'd be in bits."

His pillow felt heavenly, as did Genos' toasty chest as they spooned. Saitama closed his eyes, waiting for sleep, when something warm and supple licked the back of his head. "That is what my tongue feels like," Genos murmured, his words warm on the shell of his ear.

Saitama was reminded of a mother cat licking its kittens. "Way better than submarines," he mumbled, the last of the day's tension melting away. He would have knocked out then and there except the tent flaps whispered the arrival of a guest. Saitama and Genos rolled over to see the creamy omega, Latte.

They watched, wonder tingeing their sleepy expressions, as the puppy trotted over to Genos. The cyborg tensed, at which the puppy merely sniffed and continued nosing around. He pawed the comforter twice before laying his head on the cyborg's thigh. His big moon-eyes rolled up to look at them, the rest of him sinking into the cush.

The men stared. Latte blinked long and languorously, leaning into the pull of sleep.

"Hey," Saitama whispered, "make it move to the middle so we can share it."

"I don't know how to do that," Genos whispered back.

Latte sighed, nostrils quivering as he descended into dreamland. Saitama gazed at Genos' thigh with mounting jealousy. As it became clear that Latte was going to be a cyborg-exclusive cuddle-buddy, Saitama wiggled out of the blankets and pushed out of the tent.

A moment. Then Genos watched two puppy-shaped silhouettes dart past, chased by a bald shadow. The cyborg couldn't find it humorous, too wound up about the small, delicate life peacing out on his leg. He craned his head up, whispering so as not to wake the omega, "Sensei! Come back!"

A faint curse from outside the tent, and then all was quiet. Genos decided that he could not do much more than lay back. Latte felt warm and heavy on his leg, and the darkness was bundled cozily around him. The last thing he registered before falling asleep was the slightest movement, Latte snuggling closer, sharing in his heat.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: This chapter took sooooo long to write. I literally wrote like 5 different versions of the first scene before scrapping them all entirely before writing the monster you have before you. And that's only the first scene. Then you the rest of the chapter. Which is longer than most fanfics I've written. Also, a lot of life stuff is happening and continues to happen TT_TT But I hope that I can keep writing and I hope that this fic makes people happy! Egg and Toaster sure make me happy!

Also, the fic has made its fated jump to the EXPLICIT rating. YUM! If you want to skip this part, skip the first scene.

* * *

Pumpkin Spice Latte were tearing across the floor, chasing a punctured tetherball that was quickly losing its shape. Saitama lay sprawled against the folded futons, watching them as he mellowed in the sunlight in a tank top and shorts. Outside, fat clouds drifted across an endless blue sky. It was a good day.

But someone was missing. Where was his fourth puppy?

"Sensei…"

Saitama turned his head. There sat Genos, on all fours, wolf ears twitching on his head and tail erect.

Genos. Naked, save for a dog collar and harness strapped tight around his body.

The cyborg crawled between Saitama's bent legs and rubbed his cheek against the man's thigh. "Play with me," he breathed.

Downstairs, Saitama sprang to attention. He examined the harness, particularly the strap that dove down Genos' stomach to disappear between his legs. From his vantage point, Saitama was unable to see much. "Turn around," he said.

Genos complied, the light glinting off his ass as he bared it up at Saitama. The strap was nestled deep in his silicone valley. It was also pulled tight over a pink, salivating pussy.

"Aren't you a good boy." Saitama hooked a finger underneath the leather and snapped it back. Genos shook with a delighted whimper.

When Saitama glanced across the room, the omegas were gone, their ball lying in shreds. Among the scraps lay new toys—a crop, a flogger, a studded dildo that was knuckled on both ends like a bone…

Saitama didn't need those… yet. He sat up and grabbed Genos where the harness met on his back, hooking his pinky underneath the long downward strap. There was hardly any give, the strap snug against the cyborg's body, but with Saitama's strength it was child's play to stretch the leather and rub it up and down between Genos' lips. The leather was also slightly rugged on the inside, generating more friction. Genos released a soft, shuddering moan. Lube dropped the floor—pussy tears. Saitama's cock throbbed at the sight of them.

He stood, towering over Genos. Gently, he grabbed the cyborg by the hair and turned him around again. "Show me a trick and I'll give you a treat."

Genos grinned. He deftly took Saitama's zipper between his teeth and tugged. Never had the sound of his fly opening sounded so loud in Saitama's ears, and Genos batted his eyelashes at him while he did it. Then the cyborg made similar work of the button and plucked open his boxers. Saitama's flushed cock sprang free, a glimmer of cum on the tip. Genos nuzzled it lovingly before licking a long, shiny stripe from base to head, laving the spot with care. He never lost eye contact, and that was the thing that riled Saitama up the most.

"Good boy. Take it."

And so that billion-yen mouth enveloped Saitama's shaft, Genos devouring him like an animal. Saitama nearly jumped in his skin as that masterpiece of a tongue swirled around his head and laved him all the way down. He felt alive, more alive than he'd felt in any fight. For once his mind did not wander, every ounce of him fixated on the cyborg and his warm, silky mouth.

He started thrusting, though it was little else than rocking his hips. Genos was bobbing with so much gusto that Saitama feared that he might choke—but maybe that would be hot. Seeming to read his mind, Genos lurched forward and dove balls-deep. Holy shit , Saitama thought as he hit the back of the cyborg's throat and slid down that tight chute. All cognitive functions died when Genos swallowed—once, twice, three times. Saitama clutched at blonde hair to ground himself. The dog ears, baby-soft, flicked under his touch.

Soon it was getting to be too much. Saitama's knees trembled. He'd never thought that feeling so weak could feel so good . Genos was there to brace him and, like any good disciple, sucked harder. He was gonna—he was gonna—!

A blinding light flashed through the room, white as the sun. Saitama screwed up his eyes as he came…

… came to the sight of Genos kneeling at his side, shaking his shoulder. "Sensei, it's time to get up."

The eastern side of the tent had been drawn up, the futon bathed in sunlight. A breakfast spread decorated the kotatsu. "Okaaaay," Saitama yawned, stretching. He rolled to his side and scratched his ass. He felt so well-rested and relaxed.

Then, he noticed the cyborg's outfit. Genos was dressed for battle—bicycle helmet, goggles, and a t-shirt with an image of Mumen's old chest pads screen printed across the front along with the words #freemumenrider. The sleeves had been ripped off, the fabric stretched tight across Genos' chest.

"Ah! The rally! It's today." Saitama said.

"Yes, sensei!" Genos handed him a folded set of shirt and pants. "Afterwards, you can help me put the puppies into their shirts, too! Latte already put his on."

Saitama spied four little white paws behind Genos. When the cyborg stepped aside, he could see the omega wearing his own dryer-shrunk youth size. Genos made it sound like the omega had dressed himself. For all Saitama knew, that may have been the case; while Genos had gotten comfortable with walking the dogs at leash-length and feeding them morsels by hand, he was still too scared to man-handle them into something as unnatural as a shirt. Latte glanced up at Saitama in his tiny riot uniform, looking way too intelligent.

A scream of steam erupted from the kitchen. "The tea!" said Genos. He hurried towards the stove. Latte padded after him.

Saitama kicked the covers off, though he seemed to have wiggled out of their embrace during sleep. A wet, spongey feeling alerted him to his pants. He stretched open the waistband and peered inside. "Eh?"

Saitama showered quickly. It was a long walk to City G, and they had to move fast to avoid heavy traffic.

When he emerged he saw Pumpkin slurping at a sunny-side up while Genos' back was turned. She was the adorably stupid-looking type, with a short, upturned snout and the closest thing to googley eyes occurring naturally in the wild. Saitama loved watching those bulging marbles track a cube of chopped liver back and forth, back and forth. The puppies were on the stout and squat side, having yet to grow into their leaner, more long-legged adult forms, Pumpkin most of all. She was something akin to a dangerous-looking corgi.

"Heheh," Saitama snickered as he advanced upon her. She spotted him at the last moment. Her eyes bulged, her whole body seizing up as she tried to run. Useless! Saitama snatched her up and burrowed his face into her belly fluff. "Oooh, you're so cute I could eat you!" he cooed. Her legs battered his face to no avail.

"S-sensei!" Genos said. "You shouldn't do that!"

"But it's so fun." Saitama raised Pumpkin high into the air Simba-style, his legs dropping into a lunge just like Rafiki introducing the world to its new king. Pumpkin yowled pitifully.

"She doesn't like it!" Genos implored.

"Oh, come on, just try it!" Saitama thrust Pumpkin in his direction. "It'll be so nice that it'll have you picking them up all the time."

"I… I can't! It's wrong!" Genos backed up. Saitama followed him step-for-step until the cyborg was flat against a wall. Pumpkin's heaving belly was the last thing Genos saw before it was being smushed all over his face. Saitama rubbed forcefully, even managing to cut of Genos' air supply. It was soft, impossibly soft—not just the fur but also the body. And so warm. Genos was reminded of a baby, all delicate and chubby, and now that he thought about it, yes, that's what they were.

Distantly, he could hear Saitama laughing. Genos felt the strength drain from his legs. He slid down onto the floor and lay prone on his side, his helmet rolling off his head with a clatter.

Saitama laughed and planted a fat kiss on Pumpkin's head, a kiss that was returned with an ample amount of teeth. Saitama tsked and pulled away but couldn't help planting a second one and then, dodging the snapping jaws, a third and fourth. Then he squatted and planted a fifth kiss on top of Genos' head before walking away to find the remaining shirts.

When he returned, he roused Genos with a promise not to smother him with puppy fluff. The cyborg's task was to hold the shirts open while Saitama shoved Pumpkin and Spice through the proper holes. The omegas yowled bloody murder and Genos cringed and winced and cried inside, but the matter was done in no more than a few minutes.

Saitama looked at their handy work. "What are we gonna do about those… forehead gem things?" he said, pointing.

"Oh, we can put these on them." Genos reached into a drawstring backpack and pulled out a small box, showing it to Saitama.

Saitama took the box and pulled out its contents. "Genos, my man, you are a genius."

"We're live on the street leading up to City G Courthouse!" said the anchorwoman into the camera. "Thousands of Mumen Rider fans are marching in an attempt to sway the decision of today's court hearing in favor of the esteemed hero, who was recently arrested for running over an unarmed, heavily disfigured civilian. His fans are pleading for a lenient sentence. Let's ask this gay couple what they think! Sir, do you have any words for the camera?"

"Hey, Mumen," said Saitama. "If you're watching this, hold on. We'll get you out of there."

Neither he nor Genos had a spare hand to wave, since they had one grip on the dog leashes and another hand intertwined. They moved on with the flow of marchers.

"I wonder why she thought we were gay," said Saitama.

"Yes," Genos agreed. "It is clear that I'm bisexual."

"Cool," Saitama said. "Me too."

It had not been a good idea to bring the puppies. While the omegas had handled the long trek from City Z to G, the deluge of strange bipedal creatures had them whining and straining their leashes to get away. They were a sorry sight, ears flattened and ducking low to the ground. Saitama and Genos walked as far as possible from the other marchers, putting themselves on the sidewalk and close to the many restaurants and stores that lined the road.

The courthouse loomed ahead, its steps swarming with bicycle helmets. Their many colors made the rally seem surreally festive. "Free Mumen Rider!" people chanted. Up ahead, a ring of police kept them from the courthouse doors.

An air of tension surrounded Genos. The tilt of his chin told Saitama that he was more than a little worried about stepping on paws. Saitama squeezed his hand and smiled. Genos' head snapped back up, and he pretended to be interested in the sea of marchers.

Footsteps from behind. A young girl in a skirt and elbow pads approached them. "Excuse me, can I pet your dogs?"

The omegas growled. Saitama twined the leash around his fist, pulling them closer. "Sorry, they're too nervous right now."

Like a good child, she maintained her distance. "Why are they wearing band-aids?"

The puppies ducked behind Saitama's legs, fat squares of gauze taped over foreheads. Genos loomed over the girl. "They bumped their heads," he said. He tried to muster a glare but failed as his own nervousness was beaming out of him.

The girl peered at them. "All of them?"

"This morning, all three of them."

She frowned all the more. "…Okay," she conceded before wandering off the way she came.

The march was starting to slow. Saitama and Genos parked themselves at a cafe table and distracted the puppies with jerky treats and water. "Good Pumpkin Spice Latte! You did such a good job walking all the way here," Saitama praised. Whenever he tried to pat them on their heads though, they would duck and scoot closer to Genos. They clustered around the cyborg's chair, panting vigorously.

Saitama buried a niggle of jealousy. Genos was great. Even he would lie in front of Genos like that!

Genos curled into a ball in his chair, not wanting to accidentally knock a heavy foot into their charges. He peered at the puppies from over his knees. He looked like a little kid. Saitama snapped a picture on his phone.

They should have kept their eyes peeled for trouble. It had a habit of finding them.

"Ooh! Puppies!"

Saitama turned and saw—whaddaya know—Turd 1, also in a #freemumenrider outfit. He and some of his buddies stood barely an arms length away. His huge gorilla hand reached for Pumpkin.

Pumpkin's eyes crossed themselves in panic, and for a moment Saitama thought they were going to pop out of her head. Adrenaline flooded his system. Before he could move though, Genos had hoisted Turd 1 by his shirt and was dumping him inside an empty trashcan. He slammed the lid down and, using the heat from his palms, welded the metal together. Then he sent the whole package rolling down the street.

A flurry of bangs—it wasn't long before a ham-sized fist ripped its way out of the thin metal. Genos was ready. He pointed at the trash can and shouted, "Aah! He's destroying corporate property!" Then he grabbed the leashes and ran.

A bustle from inside the café. Saitama grabbed their bags and scurried after Genos, leaving the rest of the turds gawping. As he left, he locked eyes with Tank Top Master, who was surveying the scene from the middle of the road. He showed no hint of agitation, only crossed arms and a calm visage.

When Saitama caught up, they were far away from the café. Genos however showed no signs of slowing, so Saitama clapped a hand on his shoulder. Gradually, his pace slowed, and Saitama steered him to an empty bench. The omegas clustered around Genos' feet, winded. Pumpkin pressed herself so close that she was sitting on his shoe.

Damn , Saitama thought. Genos really is getting all of the attention .

Saitama had to admit that he deserved it. You make your puppies proud, Genos. You really do.

In another hour, the march had ground to a halt. No one was getting any closer. Saitama opened his phone to text Fubuki that they wouldn't be able to join them in the courthouse but found that she'd already texted him. "Mumen got sent back to jail. We're coming to pick you up."

A ripple moved through the crowd. Suddenly everyone was on their phones. News update—it seemed that the judge was going to take leave to deliberate and that Mumen had in fact been smuggled out through the back of the courthouse as not to cause a stampede of fans. A massive grumble moved through the crowd. Then the sea of people began to part. A black four-door crawled down the road like a vehicular Moses.

It stopped in front of them. A tinted window rolled down. "Get in," said Fubuki.

Saitama and Genos joined her in the backseat, picking the puppies up to haul them inside. Fubuki looked twice at their teeth and bandaids. "…Are those monster puppies?"

"Yes." Genos said.

"Give me one." Fubuki snatched up Spice and squished her against her bossom. "Oh, you are so—Ow! My boob!"

"Don't worry, they're virus free," said Saitama.

"That was a Victoria's Secret!" She pulled open the neck of her dress as far as it would go and reached a hand down there to feel around. "No blood. Good."

"So, how'd it go?"

"The family of the deceased were big enough Mumen fans that they didn't press charges. Thank god, because that would have killed our bank account. Now it's just a matter of the sentence." Fubuki slumped into her seat, a hand on her temple. Saitama wondered how much make up it had taken to powder away the sleepless nights.

City G Jailhouse was a monstrous concrete fortress. The omegas pressed up against the window as Genos and Saitama walked away. The cyborg stalled three times to look over his shoulder before Saitama hauled him away by the elbow. The guards stripped them of their bags. Genos was ordered to leave his guns behind, so he went into the visitation room armless.

Mumen was already sitting at the table, looking as gray as his cuffs and the prison-issued jumpsuit he was wearing. His first words were: "Oh my god, did you bring me a burger?"

Fubuki handed him two BcDonalds sandwiches. Mumen tore into them like a beast. "Gawwwwwddd… real food," he groaned between bites. "They've been feeding us Mammy Milk nonstop."

"Mammy Milk?" said Saitama. "That nutri-mix for kids?"

"Yes. It's so sweet my teeth ache. And when they're not aching everything feels so surreal. I never thought I'd end up here."

"I'm pretty sure that's what everyone else thought."

Genos and Saitama gave Mumen five candy bars they'd brought for him. Mumen smiled at the sight of the individually wrapped chocolates. "This is good. We have to buy our own toothpaste and everyday stuff on allowance, so I bet I can use these to barter with the other inmates."

"Yikes. Next time we'll bring you toothpaste," said Saitama.

"There won't be a next time," said Fubuki. She clenched her fist. "The judge is going to sentence him to one thousand hours of community service and we'll be done with this nightmare."

Mumen crumpled the wrapper of the first burger and started on the second. "Honestly, I think it could be a lot worse. Like, I could be starving and be getting beat up left and right. But everyone's been really nice. Like, Yusuke-san, here—"

One of the guards had a #freemumenrider pin over where his badge should have been. He grinned and pulled a piece of cardstock out of his pocket. Two rows of inky fingerprints ran across it, Mumen's signature scrawled in the corner.

Mumen opened one of his candy bars and passed the chocolates around. His friends had refused at first, but Mumen insisted that he share. Saitama popped a square into his mouth, a gob of caramel cementing between his teeth. Feeding Genos his portion by hand was strangely gratifying. One of the nicest things was that it was cold inside of the concrete, cold enough that Saitama put his hoodie on.

It had been so long since they'd sat together around a table. A ghost of old times hung over them, a time Mumen still rode a bicycle and Fubuki still had a sister. And King—they hadn't seen King in six months since he'd left to live in the mountains with Bang.

Saitama rubbed the chocolate off his fingertips, feeling a little too rich. What might he give up to have that time back? He realized that Fubuki must have asked herself that question tons of times. Saitama was lucky to only have come across it now, a whole year late.

It was time to start pulling his own weight. Saitama pulled his phone out and wrote a text to Mumen. But instead of sending it, he leaned over and showed Mumen the screen. Who's the dude?

"Ah," said Mumen. He nodded towards Fubuki. She seemed to catch on immediately. Her smile was all white, shiny teeth.

"What? You know him too?" Alarm bells were clanging in Saitama's brain.

"Of course." Fubuki preened. "He works for me."

She leaned over the table in a conspiratorial manner. "In fact, we've been talking about you. After this, I'll take you to meet him."

"Oh," said Saitama. " Oh." The annoyance or twisting unease that should have accompanied such a change of plans failed to rise. Instead came a small rush of excitement.

There wasn't much time to to talk after that. Mumen's visitation time ran out, and even Yusuke-san couldn't be convinced to let them linger. The guards cuffed his feet. An additional chain bound his ankles to his wrists. Then they led the biker down a long, long corridor. His friends stood in silence until a door slammed, and he disappeared entirely.

The car crawled out of City G and merged with the huge intermetro highway. While seeing Mumen leave had drained some of Saitama's positive feelings, he knew it meant they didn't have a moment to lose. Smoggy cityscapes flashed by, and soon enough they were exiting into City M. As they cruised down the ramp, Saitama could see a black rift slashing through the urban jungle, a scar left by an earthquake last year. Saitama had once peered into the maw. Gaping darkness, at least until the city had started to make use of it. The metropolis and all its cities had always been short on space; with so many people to house, architects had always been pushing the height of their skyscrapers, reaching for the heavens. Now, though, M's great quake had inspired people to build down.

The occupants of that real estate? The dead.

M for Morgue, people joked. By transforming the upper walls of the rift into fresh burial ground, City M had restored earth as an affordable means for laying the dead to rest. The city, boasting a thriving funeral industry, was most people's first pit-stop on the road to heaven. It was one of the few cities in which there was a higher urn to live-person ratio.

The limo curbed off outside a massive temple complex. A procession of solemn mourners trickled out from under the tori gate. Distant bells told of more dead beyond.

"This way," said Fubuki, leading them under the gate and through a garden of slender tombstones. A shaven priest paused in his sweeping to give Saitama the stink eye, his face puckering at the sight of his hoodie.

Saitama covered his boobies. "Are you sure this is the right place? I don't see any scientists."

"Yes, buttmunch," Fubuki replied they walked the rise into the main temple room. The room itself was gaping wide, empty save for a floor-to-ceiling bronze Buddha and an aged monk watering pots of bamboo.

He turned and bowed, his gentle eyes fixed on Saitama. "Greetings, Saitama. I have been expecting you."

"Uh, hi." Saitama bowed.

"I am the head monk of this temple. Please follow me."

He went around the statue and pushed open two doors that Saitama had assumed impassable. They weren't secret doors by any means. The presence of the Buddha simply made one believe that there was no other corridor. As they stepped inside, the temperature spiked. Three gleaming coffins lay on top of rolling tables. A crematorium lay at the far end of the room. The oven door was closed. For now.

The monk wheeled one of the coffins in front of oven and opened it. Thankfully it was empty, at least until Fubuki strode forward, hiked up her dress, and climbed inside, heels and all. Then the monk closed the coffin with a snap.

Genos and Saitama watched in shock as Eyelashes and the monk heaved the casket and its contents onto the loading arm. The oven opened its maw. A hungry, monstrous heat roiled into their faces. The coffin began its slow crawl.

The intense light made it difficult to see down the oven's throat. Saitama fought down his rising anxiety. Fubuki knew what she was doing, right?

Right?

Too late—a light flashed as the coffin hit the flames, its lacquer igniting. Saitama felt his stomach go cold as the coffin vanished into the swelling fire.

The monk smiled at Saitama. "Your turn."

Saitama couldn't help the deep sense of finality as a he climbed in. Despite being impervious to the eight-hundred degree heat, it was a coffin. Eyelashes at least acted like this was normal. He hovered over Saitama, his face slowly being eclipsed by the lid. "Once the coffin stops—and only once it stops—pop the lid back open by pressing the switch."

"Wait, is no one gonna be around to open it?"

The lid slammed shut. A heavy clack—bolts locking tight. Darkness crowded Saitama's senses, pushed into his eyes, his ears, his pores. "H-hey!" he shouted as the coffin rolled forwards. His feet grew clammy in his sneakers despite the rising temperature. A roar—dull at first yet growing louder and louder as the flames surged over him.

"Oh," Saitama sighed in relief. "That's all?"

The coffin gave a great lurch and plummeted.

Saitama squealed as his stomach dropped out from under him. His heart simultaneously flew into his throat. The rest of his organs sloshed about inside of him as coffin spiraled and rocketed into the dark recesses of hell.

Saitama braced himself against the coffin walls. Just when he was getting used to things, the roller coaster slammed to a stop. Saitama's forehead whacked against the underside of the lid.

A spatter of stars. Hot, heavy air. Saitama ran his hands over the underside of the lid. Nothing but smooth faux velvet. In the back of his mind lurked the thought of suffocating and being found thousands of years later by archaeologists. He was starting think he'd have to punch his way out when his fingers found a tiny rotating switch in the far corner of the lid. He cranked it like a man on a mission.

Light assaulted him from all angles. The world opened up into a large, cluttered laboratory. Robots of every polygon roamed the floors, and the tables were crowded with enormous scientific ding-dangs and doohickies that would be forever beyond Saitama's comprehension. The walls were alive with studs of blinking lights and screens and whirring noises. If Genos were transformed into a room, this would be him.

"Greetings, Saitama," said a robotic voice. "I have been expecting you."

Saitama turned to face the strangest android he'd ever seen. Emo-teenager hair and a large, cyclops eye topped a slender body that seemed to glow at the seams. The sight was so strange that Saitama barely noticed Fubuki, who stood next the mechanical being. "Saitama, meet Drive Knight, Blizzard's science department," she said with a pride.

Saitama's brain was still recuperating from the roller coaster ride, so maybe he couldn't be blamed for blurting, "Why is he naked?"

Drive Knight blinked long and slow, like a cat. For someone with minimal facial features, he could convey a great deal of condescension.

Another coffin, blackened by the crematorium, rocketed into the lab to save Saitama from his small, self-made hell. The lid opened, and Genos wriggled his way up into sitting position, his oversized shoulders almost popping as they squeezed out the coffin. "Sensei!"

Saitama gestured at the cyborg. "Genos wears clothes," he said, as if that justified everything.

Genos nodded vigorously as he walked over because, yes, he did indeed.

Drive Knight's gaze fell on Genos, a flicker of something indistinguishable on his face. Soon he turned his attention back to Saitama. "So you are the fucktard who made this mess. I didn't believe it when I saw that news bulletin, but when Fubuki said she knew the guy I had to see for myself. I thought you'd be a little more…" He swooped closer, his single, giant ocular peering into Saitama's dead fish eyes. "Alive?"

Saitama buried his irritation. After all, he'd just shamed the guy for his nonexistent fashion sense. "I'm a pretty normal dude, just like y—most people."

"Did you really lose all your hair from doing push-ups?"

Genos scowled and stabbed a finger at Drive Knight. "Don't waste our time with your insulting small-talk! Our children are waiting for us!"

Drive Knight did not question this. Saitama surmised that the android—being a mighty-morphing robot centaur—was so far on the fringes of the sexual spectrum that he got all sorts of crazy questions and thus knew how to be considerate. This assumption was revoked when Drive Knight turned to Genos and went in for the kill. His eye locked onto the Saitama's roommate with considerable interest. Now it was a look that Saitama recognized. "Demon Cyborg, I could just kiss that rude mouth of yours."

Genos' brow bunched. "…But you don't have any lips."

"If we stare deep into each other's eyes, it's almost the same thing." Drive Knight's ocular whirred as it zoomed in on Genos. The cyborg stiffened, then reared back in horror, face twitching. He couldn't choose between raising his arms to shield himself and wilting outright so he just did a panicked series of bobs.

Saitama heard a gas pipe blow somewhere in the building, but really it was just his mind combusting on multiple levels. First came the realization that he was watching two machines flirt, or at least one machine hitting on a half-machine. Second came the wild, irrational desire to shove them apart and cuddle Genos against his chest like a precious teddy bear. Which he did promptly. "Oi!" he shouted at Drive Knight, his arms wrapped around his cyborg friend. "You—you can't just kiss people!"

Drive Knight looked him right in the eyes, his pupil dilating. It took Saitama a moment to register what was happening. "Ahh!" he screamed, shutting his eyes.

"No! Sensei!" Genos shouted. He flung his hand over Saitama's face.

They clung to each other while Drive Knight and Fubuki watched on. "I'll never share you," Saitama said, his lips crushed against Genos' ear. He'd never felt so horribly possessive about anything in his life, not even over a coupon book or the last nappa cabbage at the supermarket. He knew it was wrong to reach a hand into Genos' love life because Genos could handle himself. But how else were you supposed to feel when you were stranded in an alien land whose ruler had just slobbered all over you and your closest friend with his giant eyeball? Life was short and you had to shelter love when you had it.

Wait.

Love?

"Anyways... welcome."

After a while, Genos and Saitama had had the sense to detach themselves.

Drive Knight led them deeper into the laboratory. "My primary field is robotics. I've spent the last decade designing robots to collect resources from a variety of places. In particular, I specialize in launching robots into space to mine rare alloys from asteroids."

"Okay. Robots." said Saitama. They passed multiple rooms, including a cell housing a pink orangutan. It stuck out its tongue at Saitama as he stalled in front of the bars. "Then why is this guy here?"

"That is also a robot."

"Oh."

Saitama could only surmise what sort of resources a pink orangutan was meant to collect. He didn't have much time to think because Drive Knight was directing him onto a scale, then measuring his height. Then muscle density, in which Drive Knight broke several needles trying to sink them into Saitama's bicep. "After going bald I could never split chopsticks the same way again," Saitama explained when asked to tell his story.

"Fascinating."

Drive Knight did not write anything down; instead he muttered to himself, like he was logging everything inside his brain.

After several other evaluations, they decided on a break. Fubuki cornered the android as the others took off to inspect the laboratory equipment up close.

"Hey, you shouldn't hit on Genos. Or Saitama," she whispered. "They're dating, and I'm pretty sure they're as monogamous as penguins."

Drive Knight turned at looked at his guests. Genos and Saitama were touring the main lab room while joined at the hip, their fingers toying with each other's belt loops as much as they were fiddling with Drive Knight's gizmos.

"No, they're not," said the android.

Fubuki honed in on the lovebirds in subject. Just as Saitama's hand slipped south, Genos bent forward to inspect a small laser that was shooting a bolt of purple lightning into a petri dish, pushing himself into Saitama's palm in a reverse ass-grab.

"You're joking," said Fubuki.

"Trust me, fearless leader, they're as free as fish in the sea," Drive Knight said.

For all of their platonic bro-hood, Saitama was loving the feel of Genos' buttcheek in his palm. With its shapely curves, it could have passed as 100% au natural. The silicone was seductively plush, especially in comparison to the metal body pressed against him. The softest sigh exited Genos' nose as Saitama thumbed a few circles. Saitama wouldn't have caught them if they hadn't been so close.

Genos pulled open a drawer. Inside lay an assortment of headphones, each with a different animal ears perched on top. Genos tried on a pair with the cat ears. "Sensei, NYAN!"

Saitama laughed. Genos was so intense that he couldn't even tone down his meows.

Genos smirked and tried on the next pair—rabbit ears. He stood ramrod straight, the ears waggling as he scoped the area for predators and carrots.

"Put on a tux and they'll ship you off to the closest butler cafe," said Saitama. His pinched an ear between his fingers and was shocked as they twitched.

"I can hear… a tiny humming… in these. The tiny humming of many machines at work."

"Maybe what you can hear is dependent on the type of ears."

"Hm." Genos pulled off the rabbit ears and put on the next set—a pair of perky dog ears. "Beware. Guard dog," he growled. His nose scrunched, begging to be kissed.

As cute as it was, Saitama couldn't keep the frown off his face. A powerful sense of familiarity was hounding him, like he'd seen this before and not even that long ago … but it wasn't like he and Genos had tech like this at home.

Genos cocked his head, still glaring, and damn did he do it just like a dog. The two confused cuties were at a standstill. However, it did not last long-Genos cast aside his glaring and tried again, this time nuzzling his sensei on the nose. Their breath ghosted between them, warm, wanting.

Something sparked inside of Genos' brain. He was already an animal; he might as well drive it home. He crushed their lips together in a sloppy smoosh. His tongue might as well have been a snail. But in Saitama's horny mind he was falling helplessly beneath the tongue had played him like a popsicle. All of last night's dream plowed through him in vivid clarity, its kinkiness upstaged only by the dreams of weeks and months before. All the freaky shit that was hiding deep inside his soul was now banging around inside of his brain—the suits and ties and leather cuffs, the sex on the balcony, the slosh of the porter potties as they rocked it til kingdom come, the soiling of the backseat of the Blizzard car, the elaborate kidnappings that involved aliens with technology that could make you come on command…

It left Saitama so overwhelmed that it didn't trigger a single note of arousal in his body. He forgot how to breathe. He forgot how to think. Without meaning to, he stepped away.

He was too stunned address the way Genos' face fell, to speak up when that gentle hand reached for him and fell back, seized by uncertainty.

Silence and doubt clawed a space between them. It didn't help that they'd held eye contact the entire time.

Then suddenly Drive Knight was there. "Ready for more tests?" he droned.

Saitama nodded, because that was all he could manage at the moment. As they returned to the recesses of the lab, Genos trailed behind, unsure what to do. That was how things continued until Drive Knight had exhausted his preliminary curiosity.

"It's good that we've met. Now we know that we have a force in our arsenal powerful enough to reverse our apocalypse," the android said. "I'll be back in touch with a real plan as soon as possible."

"Okay. What should I expect?" said Saitama.

" Anything ." Drive Knight said.

Saitama remembered the pink orangutan. "Anything," he agreed. It should have felt exciting, but his heart was not in it like it had been earlier.

They drove back to City Z in silence. Fubuki sat in the front with Eyelashes this time, so Genos and Saitama had the whole backseat to themselves. If they'd placed their hands on the leather they could have touched fingertips, but as they were the space stretched between them like a gulf.

Saitama stared far, far away into the cityscape. He wasn't ready to meet the black and yellow gaze reflected in the window trying to catch his eye. The puppies snoozed on the floor by their feet, wiped out from the long day.

Saitama worried the cuffs of his sweater. When had he fallen for Genos? Yeah, his roommate had always been a major babe, yet why was he realizing it now? Also, how was he going to keep his perviness on the DL with the object of his ball-busting desires hugging his every curve at night? Now that he was aware of his feelings they were sure to intensify.

He knew what Genos thought of him—that he was greatest thing to ever walk on two legs. But was he into him?

Saitama's tired, sweaty face looked back at him in the glass, and were those wrinkles on his chrome dome? He looked like an old man.

The kiss in itself was just Genos being an excitable, innocent puppy as always. And here Saitama was projecting his gross fantasies onto him…

The car creaked to a stop in front of their apartment. Fubuki waved goodbye, keeping things short, the tension evident. At last they were in front of their door. "Sensei," Genos' voice was laden with guilt. "I'm sorry."

"Oh," Saitama croaked. "No, dude, you're fine. You didn't do anything wrong." He groped for the keys.

"Sensei." Genos bowed at the waist, but his usual crisp posture sagged with mountainous self-disappointment.

"Don't worry, man. You just do your thing."

"Then please forgive my egregious behavior and allow me to stay by your side as your disciple! Truly, I will serve your every need."

Don't say that! Saitama screamed internally. He jabbed the key at the lock, suddenly lacking the coordination to slot it. Genos gently took the key from his fingers and opened the door, then stepped aside so that Saitama could enter first.

The apartment was a mess since they'd left in a rush. Saitama could hardly believe that everything he'd seen and realized had happened in just one day. They pulled out the bedding, sensing that neither of them were in the mood to eat. The folds of the tent dropped around them, and they burrowed beneath the blankets.

Genos lay on his back for a moment, the absence of Saitama's body carved into his side. The other man was hunched shoulders, a ball coiled tight. Genos inched his hand towards that broad, muscular back but stopped short and slowly withdrew. He rolled over on his other side, away from Saitama. He pulled the covers up to his nose and curled in on himself.

He'd made a terrible mistake.

* * *

AN: Thank you for reading! Please review if you can :)


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